Reconciliation
by Willow-41z
Summary: Lady Lothiriel of Dol Amroth and Rohan struggles to adjust to her new life as queen and wife.
1. Chapter 1

_Reconcile v. 1. To reestablish a close relationship between. 2. To settle or resolve. 3. To bring oneself to accept. 4. To make compatible or consistent._

She was determined not to cry at her own wedding. But the mere fact that she needed such a resolve just made her want to cry more.

It was supposed to be a happy occasion, so she plastered a smile on her face. She would not dishonor her family by appearing sullen, and she would not insult the Rohirrim by showing herself to be anything but overjoyed at the prospect of coming to their country and becoming their queen. Becoming their queen, by marrying their king.

She smiled as she rode her horse through the streets of Edoras, greeted by a cheering crowd who approved of her because she was young and beautiful; later, their approval might be harder to gain, but for now they were in a festive mood. The War was ended, their king was marrying, and wine was flowing

She rode her horse and waved, because it was expected of her, though she wanted nothing more than to grab rein, turn, and ride at full gallop towards Dol Amroth. But she could not. She was trapped, and there was no way out. She had accepted the king with a letter written in her own hand, and now she would spend the rest of her life here, away from everything she had ever known.

She smiled as she stood with the king while their hands were joined in the traditional Rohirric wedding. She smiled while they stood together and received the cheers of their-- no, his-- subjects. She smiled as they led the way to the banquet hall, and smiled through the feast, though she could eat nothing. She smiled reassuringly when her father, seeing her untouched plate, looked worriedly at her. She smiled graciously when the nobles of Rohan approached to give their best wishes; smiled as if she was delighted to be there. She smiled even more broadly when the king and queen of Gondor approached, for it was said that elves could read the hearts of men. But she did not think Queen Arwen was fooled, for she went away with a troubled look on her face.

She smiled through the increasingly bawdy toasts; she smiled genuinely when Gimli, the king's dwarf guest, made a crack about dwarf women, and his elfin companion Legolas Greenleaf shot her a keen look. But her smile soon flattened again and became a mask, as the high-ranking women of Gonder arrived in a body, ostensibly to convey their congratulations-- but in their sweet smiles and kind words, she sensed pity for the poor princess abandoned in a barbaric land.

It was not the land she cared about. To her eyes the Rohirrim were no more barbaric than her own people. What she cared about was that it was not _her _land. It was not Dol Amroth.

She smiled as the king stood and led her from the banquet hall, to ribald and drunken shouts. She smiled as the blessed silence of the corridors met her ears. She even smiled as she tripped and stumbled in her dress, scraping her elbow before the man beside her could catch her.

Only when she was alone in her dressing room, patiently undoing the intricate ties of her wedding dress-- for she had dismissed the maid-- did she give way to violent tears.

- - -

Author's note: I'm not sure if I'm going to continue this. It's very angsty, and I can only write so much angst at a time. Besides, it's a… a… _romance_. Shudders 

Anyway, I'll either take this down entirely or keep updating from time to time. I haven't decided which yet.


	2. Chapter 2

Lothiriel knelt over the stone basin as alternate waves of despair and nausea washed over her. She blinked back hot tears caused only partially by the strong lye fumes emanating from the nearby privy.

_I'm too young for this_, she thought desperately. She was twenty-two years old, but sometimes she still felt so much like a child. Now she was going to be a mother. She was wretchedly unprepared, and fiercely regretted the loss of her youth, and what little freedom had remained to her. _I want my own mother_. But Illiven was thousands of miles away in Dol Amroth, while Lothiriel was alone in Rohan.

Another heave brought her mind back to her immediate problems. _It's too soon!_ She'd known she'd be expected to produce an heir, or several heirs, eventually, but she'd hoped to have a few years to become accustomed to her new-- her new home. Lothiriel forced herself to think the words. She'd be spending the rest of her life here.

A month after her wedding, her days had fallen into a set pattern. She rose when the King did and usually spent a good portion of the morning vomiting into the privy after he departed to attend his Council meetings. Then she passed the rest of the morning sewing with her women, making polite conversation about the weather and the harvest. They never said anything untoward, but she knew they regarded her as an outsider. She felt no resentment from them, no hatred-- just a strange mixture of pity, condescension, and distance. Most of them were much older than she was, married with children.

At least she'd been able to convince them that she did not require constant attendance; she'd been able to win for herself a modicum of privacy in the bedchamber she shared with the King, and its connecting solar. The ladies stayed in their own quarters, and they sewed in the antechamber. It was a large, sunny room that she could have liked very well were it not for the stilted hours she spent there.

The servants brought them luncheon in the antechamber, and on the days when she could no longer stand to remain there after the meal, she would excuse herself and visit the kitchens, or the infirmary. Her stays there were always brief; she was greeted with the same polite deference her ladies gave her. But it was an escape, one she permitted herself to make only infrequently.

Supper was eaten in the Great Hall with the entire Court. She and the King, flanked by important guests and then the highest-ranking nobles of Edoras, sat at the high table on the dais. She was beginning to enjoy this meal, for it was the only time of day when she could watch people act naturally. Sometimes in the evenings they had music, but the melodies were unfamiliar to her.

After supper, she retired when the King did, and usually went to bed immediately. She and her husband-- the word was still unfamiliar in her mind, the concept more so-- didn't converse much, but when they did, he was polite and attentive, explaining anything she wished to know, and inquiring after her welfare. She always smiled and lied, "Fine, thank you, my lord." She didn't dislike him-- the little she saw of him. It could have been a lot worse. But he was the reason she was here.

_Who would have thought I'd conceive the first time_? she thought miserably. _Curse my Dol Amroth fertility_. Most Gondorian nobles had one or two offspring; her parents had had four. She started to smile at her own thought, but another wave of nausea made her groan instead.

She leaned miserably against the wall and wished her supper would come up or stay down. Her stomach ached in protest at the abuse it was taking, and she couldn't blame it. If she ate supper, she vomited it up the next morning. If she only pretended to eat, her body punished her with increasingly sharp pangs through the night, until breakfast or lunch. And then it all started over again.

Suddenly she leaned over the basin and threw up, regretting her last wish for a decision from her body. Her stomach heaved and contracted, and she suddenly was afraid that the violent wrenching would cause her to miscarry. It was another thing she'd have to worry about now. Her life had never truly been her own. Now, she shared even her body with the child she was carrying. It felt like an invasion, or an intrusion.

_I will get used to this_, Lothiriel thought. _It's sudden, that's all. I will..._ But she couldn't shake the feeling of being robbed, of having her freedom and youth and even her own body taken from her. _I'm too young for this._ _I am a stranger here, and for all my rank, I have nothing_. Her shoulders slumped in despair as she knelt over the basin again.

She started as a strong, rough hand gently held her forehead, and another gathered her hair at the nape of her neck. Finally her stomach was empty, and she spat into the basin and knelt back on her heels, struggled to her feet and turned around. She was not surprised that her discoverer was the king, for no one else would have reason to be there, but she was surprised that their paths had crossed at all. And she felt vulnerable at being caught in such a situation.

"I came back for some papers," he said, watching her, "and I heard you..." He picked up a mug sitting on the stone counter and filled it from the pitcher, then handed it to her. "Do you feel better?"

She smiled weakly. "Yes, thank you. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't, my lady," he said, then hesitated. "Are you... with child?"

She swallowed. "I—think so, milord," Lothiriel said. Then she added, "Forgive me for not telling you sooner. I wanted time to-- to get used to the idea." She ducked her head.

He shook his head to dispel her apology. "There is nothing to forgive," he said gently. "I understand."

Lothiriel smiled wanly back, and silence fell in the room. Finally Eomer said, "Are you sure you're well? Do you want your attendants?"

"Quite sure, my lord," she lied. "No, thank you."

"Is there anything I can get for you?"

She shook her head. "No, my lord."

Eomer gave her another encouraging smile. "Then I shall see you this evening, my lady. Be well." He left the room.

Lothiriel waited until he was gone, then sat down on the floor, slumping heavily against the wall. She finally gave into inclination and sobbed quietly, squeezing her eyes shut.

But she was not so quiet that Eomer, standing by the wall outside, did not hear and feel wracked with guilt.


	3. Chapter 3

Eomer sat at his desk in front of a half-filled piece of parchment, but he was not reading it. He was staring at the fire with furrowed brow, thinking of his wife.

He didn't know what to think. They were married, yet he barely knew her. They saw so little of each other that he had not known she was unhappy until that morning. Looking back, he recalled a handful of other times he had surprised her with red eyes, but she had always claimed it was the smoke from the fire, or the cold. And he had believed her, not knowing any better. He had assumed she was settling into her new life, but now berated himself for being so blind.

She was his wife, yet she was a stranger to him and he to her. Was that how it was supposed to be? People married for political reasons were not expected to have happy marriages. Would she be offended if he reached out to her? Had she resigned herself to a shell of a marriage with a man she did not know? What else could they have? How was he supposed to treat his wife?

He had no answers, but one truth. Lady Lothiriel was miserable, though he now saw she had hidden it well. His heart had gone out to her, a lone woman in a strange land, as he had stood outside the privy and listened to her cry, yet he had not been able to step back inside and comfort her. What comfort would she have derived from it, after all?

_Were she anyone at all, I would endeavour to make her feel at home_, he thought. _It does not matter what the two of us are to become. She is here because of me. It is my duty and responsibility to make her comfortable here. I do not want her to cry._

Then, the answer to his second-to-last question: _Like a human being_.

-

Lothiriel sat in front of the window with a piece of embroidery in her lap, but she was not sewing. She was staring out at the city of Edoras, and she was thinking.

Her stomach was still troubling her, but much less since she'd thrown up her breakfast. Nor was, at the moment, the thought of being a mother bothering her. If she concentrated on it too hard, it would, but she was careful not to reopen that mental sore. She was still homesick, but in a very vague sort of way at the moment; the morning sun shining on the roofs of the buildings of Edoras was too pretty for her to regret her present location, unless she thought about sunrise over the Bay of Belfalas.

She'd thought about it, and with the mental image came the knowledge that she might never see the sight again. The sense of loss was enough to make her gasp and lean her head against the wall, tucking her feet under her as she sat in the window seat. It was just a sunrise; they had sunrises in Edoras too, spectacular ones, as she'd discovered one morning when insomnia had taken her outside in the dark of pre-dawn.

But the sense of loss came often, whenever some memory of home would rise up unbidden, accompanied by the knowledge that the scene would never be repeated. She knew she had to be ruthless, and harden herself against the feelings. But Lothiriel could not bring herself to cast off the memories of Dol Amroth, and her family, that were her greatest comfort even as they filled her with longing.

_Enough self-pity_, she thought, her hand resting gently on her stomach. _You will be here for the rest of your life. You must find something about it to like. _And then: _I must find something to do, or I will go crazy_.

She could not change the remainder of her life's course, but many of her troubles could be fixed. She would start with the simplest. Putting her embroidery aside, Lothiriel rose to look for the healer.

-

Eomer passed the cross-corridor, glancing down it, then away, before his mind caught up with his eyes. His wife's dark hair was distinctive in a population of blonde men and women, and it was indeed her talking with the healer that he saw through the open door of the infirmary at the other end of the hall. She was looking around, almost furtively, and as she spoke Brinweld's eyebrows went up. After a moment of studying the queen he nodded slowly, left the part of the room Eomer could see, and returned carrying a dark bottle. Lothiriel thanked him, tucked it out of sight in the folds of her skirt, and, after another glance around, left the infirmary.

Eomer, alarmed, stepped back out of sight into the main corridor, and waited for her light, soft footsteps to approach. When she appeared before him, her thoughts apparently elsewhere, he reached out to touch her elbow before she turned in the other direction. She jumped, and a red flush appeared on her face.

"My lady," he said. "Please. I know you are not happy here, but please do not end your pregnancy."

She frowned. "My lord?"

He gestured to the hand that concealed the bottle in her skirts.

"This is a decoction for morning sickness," she said.

Eomer felt foolish. "I'm sorry," he said. "I saw you talking with the healer as if you did not want to be observed, and I thought..."

"I did not wish to be observed because I do not want the Court to know I am pregnant," she said. Eomer nodded, but the flush returned to her face and her chin tilted up. "You think I would end the life of a child merely because I am unhappy?"

"I thought-- perhaps such things were done in Dol Amroth," he said.

"Even in Dol Amroth, we value life." Lothiriel's grey eyes glinted, and Eomer was irrationally pleased. Not that he had offended her, but that something had roused her out of her misery. At the wedding, one of her brothers had warned him that his sister had a temper and a sharp tongue. This was the first evidence of either that he'd seen.

"Forgive me," he said, simply and humbly.

The anger drained out of her face, and she looked down. "I should not have spoken thus."

He shook his head. "No. You were right, my lady."

There was silence, then she curtsied and said, "I shall see you this evening, my lord."

"Be well," Eomer murmured as she walked away.

-

A/N: I made some changes to chapter 2. This chapter might get split up and rearranged, too, depending on what I come up with for 4. If I do change it I'll post an A/N about it.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a tapestry they were embroidering that morning, one commemorating the alliance between Rohan and Dol Amroth. Lothiriel had smiled at the compliment, but felt sickened inside. As her fingers, skillful from endless repetition in childhood, embroidered the swans, she tried not to think about all the times she had done so at home.

The advantage was that the ladies chattered more freely as they all worked on the same project, and Lothiriel was not forced to make strained conversation about the harvest and the weather. Instead, she sewed quietly, listening to the flow of palace gossip around her. It was familiar, and made her feel less isolated; people were the same everywhere.

She was thinking of letters she was to write later that day, composing them in her head, when the door to the antechamber opened and all the ladies looked up to see Eomer King. No less surprised than the rest of them, she stood and curtsied as they did. "Is something wrong, my lord?"

He shook his head. "Would you like to go for a ride, my lady?"

"A ride?" Lothiriel echoed. She could almost see the gossip beginning to echo in her ladies' minds at this abrupt and untoward appearance of the king, in the middle of the morning, unheralded and without attendants. Why a ride? Did he want to get her in private so he could reprimand her about something? She tried to think of something she had left undone, or something untoward she had done, but aside from her recent marriage, nothing came to mind.

The morning gown she wore was appropriate for horseback riding, and she'd taken to wearing leggings under her dresses to fend off the chill of the mornings. "I would be... happy to, my lord." She carefully pushed her needle into a small pincushion, then placed it on top of the swan she was embroidering so it would be there in the morning. Then she crossed the room and took the king's arm. The ladies curtsied again as they left the room, and as the door closed behind them she could hear them begin to talk.

"Was there something you wished to speak to me about in private, my lord?" she asked when no questions were forthcoming as they passed through the corridors. Every servant or noble they met look faintly startled at seeing the two of them together as they bowed or curtsied.

He looked surprised as well. "No, not particularly," he said, turning down the hallway that led outside to the stables. Now Lothiriel was confused. She knew he always met with his Council at this time of morning, so what was he doing here? Unless he thought she would react strongly to whatever he had to say, and wanted to be away from other people when he did so? Was he going to take her to task for unintentionally admitting that she was unhappy? She was queen, after all; it was her duty to love her new land.

_But it's not my land!_ she cried in her head. Her heart belonged in the South, with her family, by the sea. Despite her determination of three days' past to find something to love about Rohan, she hadn't yet.

They reached the stables to find two mounts standing saddled and ready: Eomer's Firefoot, a giant warhorse, and Lothiriel's own mare from Dol Amroth, a slender grey horse named Annwen. Lothiriel had never been particularly enthusiastic about horses, but the sight of Annwen-- literally the only other creature from the South in Rohan, for Lothiriel had brought no ladies with her-- was very welcome. She took a moment to stroke the animal's nose and murmur to her in Sindarin, then reached for an apple, automatically feeling along the wall of the stall for the cords of the burlap sack that always hung there.

Hung there in Dol Amroth, anyway. Their absence jolted her back to her reality and her present location, and she hastily looked around in order to keep from tearing up. She really had to learn to stop crying at every little thing! There, down the center aisle, was a whole barrel of apples, and she retrieved two. Annwen delicately relieved her of one, nosing her skirts for the other one, but Lothiriel giggled and backed away. "Not now, my friend," she murmured. It felt strange to be using such endearments on a horse, but she felt more at ease with Annwen than she had in weeks. How could she have forgotten she was here? Lothiriel silently resolved to visit the stables more often.

Not noticing her husband watching her intently, she turned to Firefoot. Eomer had silently observed the exchange between woman and horse; the warmth suffusing Lothiriel's features at the sight of something familiar was not lost on him. _How did it come to be that she brought no one with her, not even a maid?_ he thought, not knowing that Lothiriel had purposely come alone in hopes of preventing resentment.

Lothiriel extended the other apple to Firefoot, and Eomer smiled at the sight of his fierce warhorse gently taking it between his lips and crunching it as daintily as if he were a lady's riding pony. His wife led her horse out herself, smiling a polite refusal at the groom who presented himself; the stablehands, long aware of Eomer's preferences, did not offer to take Firefoot.

In the courtyard Lothiriel mounted carefully. Her stomach was still flat, the only physical sign of her pregnancy her morning sickness, but she did not know how much disturbance the growing child could take. Despite what the king seemed to think, she did not hope for a miscarriage; she did not want to be pregnant at all, but she had seen her mother lose too many children to hope for that as an alternative.

She nudged Annwen into a walk and rode beside the king out of the courtyard into the streets of Edoras, the honor guard forming at a discreet distance around them. She looked around her with interest as they rode through the city. It was midmorning, and many people were out on the streets, traveling, buying, selling, or exchanging markets. All of them moved aside when the cavalcade approached, bowing or curtsying to their passing monarchs. Lothiriel returned their salutations gravely, with the royal half-nod that was second nature to her from her years in Dol Amroth-- and then, catching the eye of a little boy who was ignoring protocol and waving furiously, more impressed by the beautiful horses than the people on them, she couldn't help smiling for the second time that day. Her smiled lingered as she rode on, and produced more of its own kind among the bolder of the people. Lothiriel was cheered, and some among the people, who had drawn their own conclusions about her confinement inside Meduseld, decided that perhaps she wasn't as haughty as they'd come to believe. _Just shy_, one old woman thought charitably, _and she really does have a beautiful smile, for all that she's so serious_.

They rode steadily until they reached the gates, and left the city to emerge onto the broad plain in front of Edoras. Lothiriel looked over at the king, wondering if he had any destination in mind or would be content to merely ride aimlessly, but he seemed lost in thought. So she followed as they rode across the plain, curving around the walls of the city to head for the southern mountains.

Finally she realized they were on a narrow path, and it was curving steadily upwards among the hills. Further back in the vales of the White Mountains, she knew, was the refuge of Dunharrow, stronghold in times of war; the people of Edoras had occupied it during the War of the Ring. Lothiriel had never seen it. Despite talk between the two kings of opening the Way of the Dead and making a shorter path between Gondor and Rohan, her party had brought her the long way from Dol Amroth through Belfalas and Dor-En-Ernil, through Lebennin and Lossarnach to Minas Tirith, and from there along the spine of the White Mountains to Aldburg and then Edoras.

She hoped the shorter way would soon be completed; Dol Amroth lay nearly due south through the mountains, and passing through Erech would cut the ten-day journey to three days, if she read the maps aright.

"My lady."

Lothiriel, startled, pulled back on the reins and looked up. The king had stopped just ahead and was looking back at her. Curious, she rode up next to him. She could see that farther ahead, the trail sloped downwards again, winding down the other side of the hills. They were at the high point of the trail. Below her spread most of Rohan in a vast, green stretch, from the Great River in the east to the Isen in the west. Only one portion-- the West-march, she reminded herself-- was hidden, blocked from view by the great spit of the White Mountains that jutted out and sheltered Helm's Deep.

It was not a land without beauty, she thought; the plains covered in silvery-green grass stretched to the horizon much like the grey-blue sea, and the Mountains of Mist cast a majestic purple shadow far to the northwest. Directly to the north was the dark, enigmatic Fangorn Forest in which walked creatures she had only heard tales of. To her right the Great River was no more than a silver glimmer on the horizon, glittering in the morning sun.

The wind flashed past her face and tugged at her braided coronet as she turned in the direction she had been anticipating all along-- and her heart sank as she saw the high wall of stone shutting off the view to the south. _Of course I won't be able to see it_, she thought miserably, feeling foolish. _I'm on the wrong side of the White Mountains. _She knew that if she climbed high enough, she would be able to see over the rocky barrier, and southern Gondor would suddenly spread before her like a new-blooming flower hidden in a vale, protected from the snow. The plains would run down to the sea, and straight south would be her homeland, Dol Amroth the farthest point and crowning pinnacle. And maybe if she looked far enough she would be able to see a tall-masted Belfalian schooner, sailing south for unknown lands... and the warm salt spray would caress her face, and she would hear the rising and falling of the ocean's roar...

Her throat closed and she forced herself to look away, studying the city of Edoras below until she could compose herself.

"When I lived in Aldburg and traveled back and forth to Edoras, I would always climb up here." Eomer's quiet voice interrupted her melancholy. "It's one of my favorite views."

"It is... very beautiful," Lothiriel agreed.

"When the Shadow fell on Rohan, it reminded me of what was still right with the country," he said, his voice tinged with a surprising bitterness. So polite and mild had he been to her, Lothiriel had not known there were darker shades to her husband. "It reminded me of what I was fighting for."

"Something no ruler can ever forget," she murmured, more to herself than to him. Then she shivered, chilled by the wind.

Eomer noticed. "I should not have kept you up here so long," he said. "Would you like to return?"

"I..." Lothiriel hesitated. "Yes, my lord."

They rode back down the trail, the honor guard still maintaining a discreet distance. Eomer did not miss the last, longing look Lothiriel gave the southern mountains, but neither did he miss that the light in her eyes did not entirely die when she looked north again. So he did not ride back by the straightest path, but approached Edoras from the west, allowing the horses to set their own pace and glancing over at his wife to make sure she was not cold or weary.

Lothiriel was thinking that it was comforting to escape the confines of the palace and the city for a time, riding freely-- or nearly so-- over the open plains. The wild beauty of her surroundings comforted her, as did the horizon with the promise it held.

"You lived in Aldburg, my lord?"

Eomer looked over at his wife, surprised and gratified by her attempt at conversation. "Yes, when I was Third Marshal of the Mark."

After a pause, she said, "We stayed the night there on our journey north." In fact it had been the last rest before arriving at Edoras. "It was... pretty."

"I always enjoyed living there," Eomer said. "It used to be the seat of Rohan."

"Oh?" Lothiriel said.

"Yes, Brego son of Eorl founded Edoras and moved the Court there," Eomer said. He watched his wife's face to see if this was interesting to her, but she only watched him politely. So he continued, feeling like he was floundering. "He felt it was closer to the heart of the country."

"Yes," Lothiriel agreed. Their conversation continued in the same vein until they returned to the stables some time after they had left. "Thank you, my lord, for the ride."

"Thank you for your company, my lady," Eomer replied, trying to judge whether or not she'd enjoyed it. But his wife was a blank to him.

This time Lothiriel let a groom take Annwen. She dismounted stiffly and curtsied to her husband, summoning a tentative and not altogether genuine smile. But when she left the stables, she came to the cross-corridor and hesitated, undecided. Then she turned away from the hallway leading back to the antechamber.


	5. Chapter 5

Lothiriel arranged her skirts around her ankles as she settled into the chair by the window. Apparently this was the seat of honor, tacitly reserved for the queen; when she had vacated it for several days, no one else had occupied it. She had to admit that she enjoyed the warmth of the sun; nights in Rohan, especially in the stone Meduseld, were cold; even with extra blankets, she shivered in the big bed at night.

The door to the antechamber swung open and Lady Celgwyn, the most senior of her attendants, entered. Lothiriel caught her look of faint surprise at finding her queen already present-- usually she lingered in the solar until the ladies were nearly all assembled, waiting for her morning sickness to pass, and reluctant to give up her privacy so early. This morning her nausea had struck with a vengeance, the decoction Brinweld had given her not being entirely effective, but she had forced herself to ignore it and move to the antechamber shortly after the king left, for she had a task to complete.

Lothiriel rose and gave Lady Celgwyn the royal half-curtsy that was so familiar; her attendant returned a full curtsy. Decorum did not require Lothiriel to rise at all, but as her mother had so often instructed her, decorum and courtesy were not the same thing at all. "Good morning, Lady Celgwyn."

"Good morning, Your Highness." Lady Celgywn moved to the tapestry and started to unroll it from where it had been stored overnight, but Lothiriel stoppd her.

"May I have a word with you?"

Again, that look of faint surprise; Lothiriel knew it was genuine, and not calculated to be insulting. "Certainly," she said calmly as she turned to face her queen.

Lothiriel smiled and gestured to a chair. When her attendant had seated herself, she began, "Several days ago I took a walk through Edoras." She had left as soon as she had returned from her ride with the king, accompanied by two guards, and had stayed out for nearly three hours. Her feet and back had been achingly sore that evening and the next day, and in fact still were, but she had not returned until she had been satisfied. When she had met with resistance, in the form of a muttered "It's really not a place for such as yourself, Your Highness," or "I'm sure you don't want to see _that_," she had tilted her chin up, smiled, and asked to be admitted. No one had gainsaid her a second time. Had they permitted her to notice, Lothiriel might have sensed the faint amusement of the guards, as well as their approval; she might have noticed that she had won over her first two partisans in Rohan. But she had been preoccupied with her task, and secretly nervous and apprehensive, and so she had not noticed. And of course she would have had no way of being present at the short conversation that evening, when one of the guards told Eomer King that his queen had a "way about her."

"The city is filled with refugees," she continued. "Perhaps we may leave our tapestry for a while and weave blankets for their relief, against the coming of winter?"

Lady Celgwyn pursed her lips. "The tapestry was intended to commemorate your marriage, my lady," she said carefully.

"I would much rather be remembered for aiding those I can," Lothiriel said, just as careful in her own reply. She did not wish to imply that she considered her wedding or queenship as unworthy of or unsuited to remembrance, even if that was what she sometimes felt.

The lady nodded slowly. "I believe that can be arranged."

"Good," Lothiriel said. "Then I will ask Hergyth to get the giant looms out of the--" her memory failed her. She'd gone on a tour of Meduseld during the week after her wedding, but she couldn't remember where the giant looms were stored.

"The east storeroom, my lady," Lady Celgwyn supplied.

"Yes, thank you," Lothiriel agreed. "And I will ask her where we can easily get material for weaving, as well."

"Wool and fabric will be short," Lady Celgwyn said. "Many of our herds were decimated in the war."

"Then we will have to make do," Lothiriel said. Lady Celgwyn curtsied in silent acknowledgment.

"Were you intending to begin today, my lady?"

"No," said Lothiriel. "We can work on the tapestry one more day." She would have liked to banish the thing from her presence immediately, but setting up the looms and getting material for weaving would probably take half the morning. Then: "Would you be so kind as to explain to the other ladies?" If Lady Celgwyn told them of the change, it would indicate that she had at least nominally given her support, or had deemed it expedient to act so.

"As you wish, my lady."

After their luncheon was brought in, Lothiriel took her leave, both to allow Lady Celgwyn to explain to the rest of the ladies without her being present, and to complete some other tasks. First she stopped in the steward's chambers, really the domain of Hergyth, the woman who oversaw the daily running of Meduseld, and requested that the giant looms be brought out. Like Lady Celgwyn, Hergyth was surprised, but hid it better.

Next Lothiriel visited all the storerooms in Meduseld, and then those warehouses that stored Crown goods elsewhere in Edoras. She even visited the armory, of which a few chambers were set aside for the keeping of non-weaponry items. Her escort this time was only a single guard, very young; unlike his predecessors of two days prior, he wasn't sure the Queen out to be visiting such common, dirty areas. Also unlike his predecessors, he was thoroughly cowed by Lothiriel's polite, smiling insistence.

She returned to the palace shortly before dusk, her feet and back once again aching, and hurried to dress for supper. For the first time she forgot to be homesick, and neither the food nor the music seemed strange to her, perhaps because she didn't pay them much attention. The evening seemed longer than it ever had before, though, as she waited for supper to be over, and the room seemed overly warm. Those watching the queen from time to time noted that her cheeks were flushed; the more charitable of them attributed it to exertion or heat, the less charitable to a surfeit of wine.

Eomer noticed his queen's impatience and rose to go sooner than he would have normally. She could have left without him; he wondered if her constancy in departing with him was due to an ignorance of Rohirrim court etiquette, or a desire to maintain a facade of solidarity with the king, or if she truly desired to stay, in which case the question became why did she not remain longer. He had noticed her foot tapping under the table a few times, while the minstrels played their dancing tunes. It was an encouraging sign, but he did not think she would appreciate an invitation to dance.

So he stood, bowed, and offered her his arm; she took it, her hand resting lightly on his sleeve. Thus they left the Great Hall together as they had done every night since their wedding. As he looked down at her, Eomer noticed that she seemed-- not happy, but almost content, as if her cares and sadness had been forgotten for a time. He wondered if this had to do with her uncharacteristic impatience; whatever the cause, he was grateful.

When they reached their chambers Lothiriel surprised him by not readying herself to sleep, as she usually did, but taking up pen and parchment and perching in a chair. "You may use my desk," he offered.

The queen looked up, startled, and shook her head. "No thank you, my lord." He also noticed that she had removed her shoes and was rubbing the soles of her feet.

"Do your feet hurt, my lady?" He recalled that much of Dol Amroth was covered in rugs; was the stone of Meduseld proving a tough adjustment?

"Yes, my lord," she said. He was grateful when she added, "I walked a long way today."

"Where did you go?" Eomer inquired, taking up some of his own documents from a stack on his desk. Usually he went to bed when she did, so as not to disturb her, or else moved to his study, but unless his presence bothered her, he had no objections to remaining where he was.

"Through Edoras," she answered.

"Did you not wish to ride?"

She shook her head again. "I wished to be inconspicuous, my lord." Then she added, "Or as inconspicuous as I can," acknowledging that her dark hair was unusual in Rohan.

Lothiriel added more quietly, "I do not wish your people to think me arrogant." She did not mean for him to hear, but he did.

"They will not, my lady," he said, and she heard surprise in his tone. Lothiriel looked up and saw the feeling mirrored in his eyes, and wondered at it.

She might have wondered less if Eomer had added, as was his first inclination, _You do not give yourself enough credit. _But he still knew so little of her, and he did not want to say anything that she might take as censure, even if it would right her faulty impressions. So he remained silent, and they passed an hour or two quietly writing together.

- - -

A/N: I like reviews…


	6. Chapter 6

Six weeks.

Six weeks, she thought as soon as she opened her eyes to see the grey stone of Meduseld above her. Six weeks she'd been married. Six weeks and three days she'd been in Rohan; six weeks she'd been pregnant.

She closed her eyes again and rolled over on her side. Suddenly she was frightened, because compared to six weeks, a lifetime was eternity.

She lay still as she heard the king quietly rise, bathe and dress. Then she rose herself, brushed her long dark hair out of its nightly plait, and sat down on the edge of the bed. She could not spend a lifetime here being unhappy. But the very thought of being here for the rest of her life was enough to make her miserable.

_I was doing so well when I wasn't thinking of it_, she thought, but her throat closed anyway. She decided to compromise: she wouldn't curl up in bed, but she would let herself cry for a while.

But once she started, she couldn't stop. She sat on the low chair in the privy and sobbed, her head buried in her shaking hands. _Six weeks_. She had been here six weeks. She was cut off from her family, and she was carrying the child of a man she did not love.

Finally she pulled herself together by sheer willpower, remembering that the king had once before come upon her unexpectedly. She did not want to have to explain to him why she was sobbing.

Lothiriel dressed quickly, using the small mirror of polished silver to make sure that no red remained around her eyes. Then she brushed her hair again and put it up in its typical braided coronet. She had gotten in the habit of wearing her hair thus at home because her mother was fond of the style; it reminded her of the fashions when she was a girl. As she pinned with deft hands, it occurred to Lothiriel that her distance from Illiven did not preclude her from braiding her hair for her mother.

Instead of wrapping the long end under she let it hang down her back as she had as a girl. Then she checked one last time to make sure her appearance was in order and stepped into the antechamber.

The sight of the giant looms cheered her. Three were set up throughout the room, along with several baskets of woolen thread. Lothiriel made a mental note to thank Hergyth for finding that; she knew it was scarce.

By the door was a pile of old, faded tapestries and clothes too holey to be patched. Some of the ladies were standing over it, frowning. "What use can these be?" said Lady Eambreth. "Unless we unravel the tapestries for thread?"

"Perhaps quilts?" suggested Lady Cynwyn. "What does Your Highness think?"

"I think quilts are an excellent idea," said Lothiriel. "Or perhaps..." she hesitated. "In Dol Amroth we have a kind of blanket made from strips of cloth," she said. "The strips are cut as long as possible and then stitched together end to end to form a long strand. Then it is woven like a normal blanket, except the overlapping edges of the cloth are stitched together while still on the loom. We call it a piece-blanket."

Lady Robrym, the only lady who had not yet spoken, pursed her lips doubtfully. "It sounds like a lot of work, Your Highness."

"Not any more than a traditional blanket," Lady Eambreth said. "Less, because the wider strips would have to be woven fewer times." She turned to Lothiriel and inclined her head. "If you would be willing to teach me the making of such, Your Highness, I would be happy to learn."

"I would be happy to show you," murmured Lothiriel.

The morning passed with the women divided into four groups: two, led by Lady Celgwyn, started blankets at the large looms. One, led by Lady Robrym, began cutting up the cast-off clothes for quilts. Lothiriel showed the last group, composed of Lady Cynwyn, Lady Eambreth and some of the other younger ladies, how to begin assembling a Belfalan piece-blanket.

The weaving was awkward at first; the ladies treated Lothiriel with deference, and she sensed their disapproval when she knelt on the floor to begin the bottom of the blanket. She reflected that it was just as well they didn't know she was pregnant. They probably wouldn't have let her out of her chair. Soon, though, all became caught up in learning, and the blanket grew quickly. Lady Eambreth was correct: it was faster than a quilt, and it was also faster than a wholly woven blanket. Twice, Lothiriel looked over her shoulder to see Lady Robrym frowning slightly in their direction.

With the ladies divided into smaller groups, conversation was less stilted; Lothiriel did not sense unanimous approval of their task, but no one complained out loud. With her hands occupied at useful employment, the time passed quickly, and sooner than she expected the servants knocked on the door, bearing the covered dishes of their luncheon.

Lothiriel looked around: there was nowhere to eat. She started to speak, but Lady Celgwyn, not seeing her, cut her off. "With your permission, Your Highness, perhaps we should adjourn and seek our meal elsewhere?" she said. "I am sure the Great Hall will have room for us."

Lothiriel nodded her assent, and the ladies began to disperse. She pleaded a headache in order to be excused, but realized her error when her attendants started to recommend various remedies. One suggested calling for Brinweld.

Finally she was able to convince them that rest would be quite suitable in curing her ailment. They departed for the Great Hall, and she made a pretense of retiring to the solar. When the sounds from the outer chamber had died away, though, she slipped into the hallway and turned towards the stables. She was not entirely unobserved; Lady Celgwyn, returning for a forgotten handkerchief, saw her and frowned. But she did not call out.

Lothiriel passed an hour with Annwen in the stables; she could not take her out for a ride, not after pleading illness, but the simple action of grooming her horse, which required no thought, was comforting.

- - -

Again, Lothiriel and the king sat up after retiring from the Great Hall after supper. Lothiriel perused something she had written the day before; the king read letters. The only sounds in the chamber were the quiet crackling of the logs in the fire, but both were so engrossed in their tasks that neither noticed the silence.

Finally, convinced that she had rallied her arguments as well as she could, Lothiriel said, "My lord."

Eomer looked up, surprised. Seeing her addressing him, he put his pen down and slid his parchment aside.

She swallowed. "I have been walking through Edoras these last few days."

He nodded encouragingly. Lothiriel looked at him watching her. He was giving her his full attention, listening politely as if she were one of his advisors. As if she were a man. She felt the first stirrings of what could be respect-- not respect for the warrior, but respect for the man.

She didn't give herself time to analyze the feeling, but instead hurried on: "I would like to start an orphanage."

Eomer blinked. "An orphanage?" he repeated.

"Yes, my lord." She paused. "Winter is coming, and those families who are now supporting extra children will be hard-pressed to look after them."

"Have you... how do you wish to go about this?" he asked, still surprised by her request.

"I thought perhaps one of the empty warehouses might be usable," she said. "Travelers will begin arriving from all over Rohan in a few weeks' time; they could bring their orphans with them. Having all of the children in Edoras will make it easier to look after them."

Seeing that he was interested, she began to explain all the plans she'd made over the last week for the feeding, clothing, and education of these orphans. She was tentative and reticent at first, but as she continued, her voice grew more steady and she stopped looking at her notes. She'd even planned for their futures: her intention was to apprentice the children out when they reached their fifteenth birthdays, or give them the option of entering the king's service, for the boys, or becoming domestics, for the girls.

As he listened, Eomer was impressed. He realized for the first time just how capable Lady Lothiriel was; in marrying for a political alliance, he had gotten a partner who would make an able queen. His appreciation of her abilities increased, and he looked at her with new eyes.

Finally she finished her recitation; Lothiriel realized how much she had talked, and blushed.

"It is a very good idea," Eomer said. "You have thought this through more thoroughly than I and my advisors could do in a week."

"Then may I do it, my lord?"

He looked at her. "You do not need my permission."

Lothiriel was confused. "You are king."

Eomer realized belatedly that he'd misunderstood her. He'd thought she was asking his permission as a husband. "I would be honored and gratified if you would undertake such a task, my lady." She flushed and looked down. "Let me know if I can be of assistance in any way, please."

Later, when the candles had been extinguished and the fire banked, both of them lay silently in bed as was their custom. Neither slept, and neither realized that the other was still awake, for both of them had things to think about.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry about the delay. I have a plot planned for this and don't want it to turn into a repetitive cycle of Lothiriel puking and crying! It's getting to the plot that's the problem, and my muse has deserted me, so I'll struggle on without it.

- - -

Lothiriel tried to take deep breaths through her nose to quell her nausea, but unfortunately the attempt only made her more aware of the various odors around her. Normally she didn't mind them; tonight the scents of food, smoke and unwashed people made her gag, and she struggled to conceal her reaction.

She could leave, but she did not want to cause talk. Exiting the great hall before the meal was over would induce curiosity as to her reason; the only polite excuse, one which happened to be true, was that she was not feeling well. Given that she was a new bride, most people would jump to one conclusion. And she did not want them to know she was pregnant.

She couldn't say precisely why she wanted to keep the knowledge to herself, but it was an instinctive desire for privacy, and, perhaps, a subconscious desire to deny that she was pregnant at all. She knew that it was ridiculous to think she could conceal her condition until she gave birth, and she didn't intend to. _Just a little more time_, she thought. _Just a little more. Please._

"Dol Amroth is said to be quite beautiful, Your Highness."

Lothiriel started at the words, slightly slurred, which came from her right; the king was on her left. She turned to see her neighbor regarding her with cerulean eyes that were sharp despite their owner's obvious slight intoxication. "I'm sorry, Lord Elfhelm," she said. "I'm afraid I wasn't quite attending."

He sat a little straighter in his seat. "I said Dol Amroth is said to be quite beautiful. Is it true?"

"Dol Amroth is very beautiful," she managed to say, despite her breath threatening to catch in her throat, and not just from nausea.

"What is it like, Your Highness?"

Lothiriel considered carefully, pushing her emotions to a safe distance. Crying in the relative privacy of the bedchamber she shared with the king was one thing; breaking down in public was quite another, and something she had managed to avoid. But then, no one had asked her about Dol Amroth.

"Lots of stone," she said finally. "A grey city. Even the shops and residences of the townfolk are made of stone."

"A monotonous city, then?"

She shook her head quickly, regretting it immediately as the sudden motion elevated her nausea. "Oh no," she said. "There are flags everywhere, colorful flags and banners, and many plants. And of course behind everything is the sea." She paused for a moment. "And that is never the same color from one day to the next."

"You miss it, Your Highness?"

"I think anyone who left their homeland would miss it," Lothiriel replied, wondering at this strange conversation. Never before had any of her supper neighbors addressed her with other than trivial topics of conversation, such as the weather or the prospective harvest. The beauty of a city this man had never seen, and probably never would see, could be regarded as such; but somehow she knew it was not.

Elfhelm nodded, then drank deeply from his goblet. Lothiriel stifled a grimace and swallowed hard as the fumes from his ale wafted across her nose, and she snuck a glance at the king to see if he looked to be near leaving. His head was turned away from her as he talked intently with his other neighbor, a diplomat from Gondor.

"Forgive me, Lord Elfhelm, but I cannot recall. Are you from Edoras?"

The battle-scarred soldier shook his head as he put his goblet down. "No, Your Highness. I was born in Aldburg."

"Is it much like Edoras?"

He considered before he answered. "Yes and no," he said, and then proceeded to explain. Listening carefully to his discourse, which was remarkably coherent considering the amount of ale he had consumed, took her mind partially off of her nausea.

Elfhelm shifted from talking about Aldburg to describing the herds of horses raised near there, and Lothiriel kept listening with genuine, if slightly bewildered, interest. She was thankful that he did not seem to expect her to talk, though his ale-laden breath did nothing to help her stomach. It did not occur to her that though he was the one talking, he was learning more than what she had told him about Dol Amroth.

-

Eomer looked over at his wife. She appeared to be listening to Elfhelm, though he could not tell if her interest was real or politely feigned. But she was pale, and her face was drawn, and every so often she would wince slightly, or inhale sharply. Glancing past her to Elfhelm, he did not think that his marshal had noticed the queen's discomfiture, though his eyes were studying her with a perceptiveness that belied his apparent drunkenness.

"My lady?" He gently touched his queen's arm, and she jumped a little before turning to face him. "Would you like to retire?"

He sensed her confusion, but she nodded quickly and took his arm as he stood. "Leaving so soon, Your Majesty?" Elgir, the Gondorian, asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid I'm not feeling well," Eomer said apologetically. "Perhaps we could continue our discussion in the morning?"

The man indicated his assent with a nod, and Eomer led Lothiriel from the hall. When they were outside, she looked up at him with a questioning expression. "You left early, my lord."

"I had no wish to linger at the expense of your comfort," he said, watching her with concern. She looked truly ill, but gave him a weak smile.

"Thank you, my lord," she murmured. Eomer once again wondered why she had not left on her own, but did not ask.

-

Lothiriel closed her eyes and tried to breathe deeply, her body trembling. She was still holding the king's arm, and he took her by the elbow, steadying her. Thankfully, the corridors were nearly deserted, and though they encountered some servants, no one questioned the royal couple.

They reached the antechamber and passed through it and the solar to the bedchamber. Lothiriel seated herself in a chair, missing the concerned look Eomer gave her, and tried to focus on the stack of papers in front of her; they were plans for the orphanage. Almost immediately, though, she stood and rushed into the privy, where she vomited everything she had just eaten.

She leaned over the stone basin, supporting herself on it as her body was wracked with heaves. She did not hear the king come up behind her, but as he had done a month before, he gathered her hair behind her head and held her forehead, his callused hands unexpectedly gentle.

-

Eomer felt a surge of compassion for his wife and a wave of disgust for himself as he looked down at her. _Oh, my lady_, he thought. _Is this all I can do for you? Hold your head? _

Finally she stopped heaving and slumped against the stone wall. She looked as if she wanted to stay there forever, but forced herself to her feet; Eomer took a clean cloth and handed it to her so she could wipe her face, along with a mug of water. "Thank you, my lord," she murmured; he saw that her eyes were shiny with tears. His own eyes watered in sympathy; he vividly remembered vomiting long after his stomach was empty after his first battle, and how much his muscles had hurt afterwards.

On impulse, he said, "There is no need to be formal if you do not wish it," he said. "We are married, after all."

It was the wrong thing to say; she looked up at him, startled, and the look in her eyes reminded him very much of a young colt trapped in the training pen for the first time. Then she looked down quickly and stared at her hands as if they could give her something to say.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked as if he had not spoken previously.

"Yes," she said, looking up at him. "I just-- the smells bothered me."

Eomer nodded, remembering Eowyn complaining of the same thing. "Do you want Brinweld?"

Lothiriel shook her head. "No, thank you." She coughed, and moved away from the strong smell of the lye in the privy to the bedchamber.

-

She'd just picked up a pile of papers when the king, leaning against the doorframe, said, "May I ask why you stayed if you were not comfortable?" His voice was hesitant, and she realized he was trying not to offend her. _At least he is kind_, she thought, and then felt a flash of anger that she had to thank the fates that she had _happened_ to get a kind husband. It could have easily been otherwise.

"I did not want people to talk, my lord." His suggestion that they give over formalities had caused her to panic, for reasons she did not understand, and so she continued using them even at the risk of displeasing him. "I do not want them to know I am pregnant."

"Are you going to inform the Court?"

She was surprised at the question; it was his child just as much as hers, and furthermore, he was King and it was his heir. He had as much right, if not more, to tell his people of the impending birth. "When it becomes obvious," she finally said, wondering if he would dislike her reticence and decide to announce the news himself sooner. But he merely nodded.

"They would not talk if you said you had a headache," the king offered, crossing the room to sit down. "Your weaving would explain that."

"Then I shall remember that," she murmured.

"How are your plans for the orphanage coming, my lady?" he asked after a few quiet minutes.

Lothiriel, who had been working on those very plans, looked up, not sure how much of an explanation he wanted. Her ideas and proposals covered nearly fifteen pages now, large pages written in a small, neat hand. So she started with the general, and as the king showed no signs of boredom or disinterest, gradually progressed to the specific points of her planning.

"You said you were planning to use an empty warehouse for the building?" he asked thoughtfully when she had finished.

She nodded.

"May I ask why?"

"Size, mostly," she replied. "There aren't any other buildings that are large enough and also uninhabited." Wondering if perhaps somehow he had misunderstood the intended scope of her project, Lothiriel added, "I was anticipating at least two hundred children."

The king didn't seem disconcerted, but only contemplative. He said, "It would probably be better if we built you a new building. The warehouses are drafty."

Lothiriel was startled into saying, "There's so much else that needs to be done! No one could spare time to build an orphanage." Then she bit her tongue, regretting her heedlessness.

"It would not take that long," the king said. "Let me speak to my council, and see if we can find a suitable piece of land.

Lothiriel nodded her agreement. "But with children arriving in a week or more for the harvest festival, my lord, we will still need to use the warehouse."

"It would be best to get the children out of it before winter comes," the king said. "Rohan winters are cold, my lady."

"Yes, so my family told me," she agreed with a slight smile, remembering. Elphir had sworn he would never be warm again, and every night for a fortnight afterwards his bed had been piled high with blankets.

She did not tell the king that she had already arranged to use one of the empty warehouses. In fact, she'd been surprised at the ease with which the man in charge of them, the quartermaster of the Riders stationed in Rohan, had agreed; the guards could have explained it to her. She did not want to go back on her agreement and appear vacillating, but she wished even less to house children in a cold, drafty building through the bitter winter. Lothiriel resolved to inspect the walls and roof more closely on her next visit to assess if the gaps might be patched.

-

The next evening, when her stomach started to protest violently, it only took a little thought to convince Lothiriel to take Eomer's advice and absent herself from dinner, claiming a headache.

When she thought that most people would be in the Great Hall, she let some of the rainwater from the large copper reservoir in the corner of the privy room into the smaller basin to which it was connected, then lit a fire under the latter. It really was an ingenious system, she thought as the water heated. Not quite as advanced as the hypocausts that ran through Dol Amroth, heating the air and water, but then the apparatus in Meduseld had been created by a Gondorian artisan many years before, under the influence of Morwen of Gondor; the hypocaust was a recent invention.

After the water reached a temperature she liked, she opened the spigot and let it run into the copper washtub, then submerged herself and soaked with something like a contented smile. The warm water soothed her stomach, which had started cramping, as well as her feet, which ached from her trips through Edoras.

She didn't know it, but her peregrinations had been observed by more than the guards and the people she visited. Her hair was conspicuous, and by now nearly all of Edoras knew of the queen's expeditions through the city. They noted that she did not ride; some concluded that she did not know how, while others had heard of or seen her arrival, or her ride with Eomer. They also noted that she did not visit only nobles; for some mysterious reason she chose to tour the poor parts of the city. And the wisest, and kindest, of them noticed that she came with only a guard or two, and concluded that she wished to be inconspicuous. So no one hailed her when they saw her in the streets, and gossip did not reach the palace.

When the water cooled, she washed, running a hand thoughtfully over her stomach. It was odd, in a word, to think that she had another life inside her that was probably no larger than her hand, if that size. She'd attended births before, and held and cared for her brothers' children... but this was entirely different.

_I don't want this child_, she thought. _Does that make me a bad person, a bad mother? Will I poison it-- him-- her-- with my thoughts?_ Lothiriel knew the idea was nonsense, but also knew that children needed parents that loved them. _What happens if I don't love it when it's born? What will I do then to an innocent child, that never harmed me, whose only misfortune was being sired at the wrong time and by the wrong man?_

Then she thought, _A child needs two parents. But the king and I-- we're not... we're not anything that can provide that. We're _strangers. _Can strangers raise a child? _For a moment she pitied her unborn son or daughter, who would be in an even more intractable position than she was. _Maybe things will be better by then._

She unpinned and unbraided her hair and washed it, then stepped out of the basin and dried herself quickly. Night was settling over Meduseld, and the stone building was chilly. Lothiriel shivered at the thought of the fast-approaching winter, and hastily found her robe. Then she sat down to write some letters about the orphanage.

-

Eomer opened the door quietly in case Lothiriel was sleeping, with the result that she did not hear him, though she was awake.

As he stood in the doorway, his breath caught in his throat. Never had he thought of her as anything other than pretty, but now she was beautiful. Her long, dark hair tumbling past her shoulders to hang damply to her waist gave her a girlish look; the color of her robe, which was a dark sea green rather than the forest green of Rohan, emphasized the light tone of her skin and made it seem clear and luminous. Long dark lashes were lowered over eyes that he knew were large and grey, and attractive even when they were not lit with a rare, happy light. Paper and pen were held loosely and unheeded in her slender hands. His gaze traversed her slender figure, silhouetted by the last rays of the setting sun, resting for a moment on her still-flat stomach. She looked very young.

She looked up and saw him. "Good evening, my lord."

"Good evening, my lady," he said, stepping inside and striking flint and tinder to light the candles in the room. "How are you?"

"Well, thank you." She watched him for a moment. "Was my absence... remarked upon?"

"Only for people to wish you better health soon," he assured her. Lothiriel watched him for another moment, then returned to her task, fetching a candle to light the ledge.

Eomer picked up his own papers, but they seemed endless, and he could not focus on them or the tasks they represented. So he was staring into the fire when Lothiriel's voice broke into his thoughts, and he looked up to see her standing near him, holding a pile of folded and sealed parchment.

"Might these go to Gondor when you next send a messenger, my lord?" she asked. "They are letters to my family. I know... it might be weeks," she added softly.

"Aragorn and I exchange couriers every two weeks," Eomer said. "The next one arrives, and consequently leaves, in three days."

"Two weeks?" she repeated.

"Yes, my lady." The happy light in her eyes did not escape him as he took the pile of letters from her.

- - -

Author's note: It's definitely not my intention to offend any single parents here with Lothiriel's remark about a child needing two parents; I'm planning to be a single parent myself. This is just her opinion, reflective of the social mores of the time and place. And of course in this case, where there are two loving parents available, it's probably best if they're both involved.

Second author's note: Some of this turned out how I wanted it; some did not. You'll notice two weeks has passed since the last chapter. Time will be compressed like this, because the story continues through and after the birth of her child.


	8. Chapter 8

The pile of blankets was slowly growing; Lothiriel needed to find someone to distribute them. They weren't doing anyone any good collecting dust in the antechamber.

She noticed significant looks passing between several of her ladies, but didn't understand their import until Lady Cynwyn ventured, "We hear you are planning an undertaking, Your Highness."

Lothiriel wondered where she had gotten her information, then remembered that the king had promised to introduce the subject to his council, of which Lady Cynwyn's brother was a part. "Yes, I am," she said. "I have high hopes for it."

"Why an orphanage?" Lady Eambreth asked.

"Prestige?" Lady Robrym suggested.

Lothiriel was taken aback at this, but waited to respond until she had an answer that was neither pat nor self-righteous. "Because I should not like to see the children suffer when I had the means to avert it," she said finally. This seemed to satisfy Lady Eambreth, but Lothiriel thought she detected a faint sneer on Lady Robrym's face-- and then she was promptly distracted by something else, something much more important.

"It will be good practice for having children of your own, Your Highness," Lady Herlith said with a significant smile. Lothiriel dragged her thoughts back to the present and forced herself to smile as well, though the reference gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach that she couldn't define. The other ladies murmured in agreement and began to discuss motherhood and their own children; whether it was meant as a hint to her she didn't know, but couldn't concentrate on the conversation, anyway. Under its useful cover, though, she was able to murmur a request to Lady Celgwyn to ask Lady Eambreth to remain behind when the rest of the ladies dispersed for lunch in the Great Hall, as was their custom now.

Lothiriel couldn't shake the sick feeling in her stomach, accompanied by an emotion that was foreign to her from long disuse: anger. When the ladies stood and made their chattering way out of the room, now talking about cradles and small clothes, Lady Celgwyn laid a gentle hand on Lady Eambreth's arm and intimated her request with a quiet murmur and an inclination of her head.

Lady Eambreth took her seat again, looking nervous; Lady Celgwyn remained in the room, standing by the door. "Your Highness, if I have done anything to offend you--" the younger lady blurted out.

Lothiriel shook her head. "Where did you get those bruises on your arm, my lady?"

Lady Eambreth's eyes got big, and she shrunk back in her seat. "I-- fell, Your Highness," she whispered.

"It would be difficult to get finger marks on your arm by falling," Lothiriel said gently.

Lady Eambreth now had the look of a wild animal caught in a trap, and her fingers were clenched tightly in her lap. "I-- Your Highness--"

Lothiriel spared her the pain. "Did your husband hurt you?"

Slowly, the other woman nodded, her eyes still wide.

Lothiriel had to fight to keep her own hands from clenching. "Has he done it before?"

Another tentative nod. Tears glittered in Lady Eambreth's eyes.

"Why do you not leave?" Lothiriel asked quietly. "Or tell someone? No law requires you to stay with an abusive husband. There is no shame in leaving him, only common sense."

"I did, once," Lady Eambreth whispered. "He-- he found me." She broke down sobbing, and buried her head in her fingers. Lothiriel stood, but Lady Celgwyn was quicker, offering the younger woman a handkerchief and comforting her with soothing words until she stopped crying.

"I would like you to take rooms in the palace," Lothiriel said when Lady Eambreth had calmed down again, only to be met with a wide-eyed look of surprise. "Your husband will not be able to hurt you here."

She looked like she was formulating a reason why she couldn't, but all Lady Eambreth said was, "My things, he'll destroy them..."

"You can send a servant for them," Lothiriel said firmly, then, catching the look of alarm, "A servant with guards, if you like."

"But he's my _husband_," Lady Eambreth said, her voice catching. "I'm bound to him as long as I live..."

"Not if he hurts you."

"Sometimes I don't think he means to," said the lady, crying again in earnest, her voice hard to discern among the sobs, "it's just that he gets so drunk and then I do something to anger him and then..."

"Never again." Lothiriel's clear, quiet voice cut through her weeping, and Lady Eambreth was startled into looking up, the flow of tears ceasing. There was silence as Queen and Lady regarded each other. Then Lady Eambreth nodded haltingly.

"Come, Lady Eambreth," Lady Celgwyn murmured, stepping to her side. "Let's get you some food, and then you can send a servant home for your things."

"I must look a fright," Lady Eambreth said in a shuddering voice. "I-- I don't want them to see me like this. They'll know."

Lothiriel opened the door to the solar. "Through there is a privy room with a cistern, if you would like to wash up."

Both of the ladies looked startled, though Lady Celgwyn hid it better. "Thank you, Your Highness," Lady Eambreth said after a moment, and vanished through the door.

Lothiriel looked at her senior attendant. "Did you know?"

Lady Celgwyn sighed and looked down at her hands. "We all did, to some extent. But it was before Freca rode off to war," she said. "When Theoden King sat on the throne under the spell of Grima Wormtongue--" the name came off the older lady's tongue as a curse-- "and Lady Eambreth had no recourse. We all thought he had changed when he came back."

Lothiriel nodded in mute, wearied acceptance of another casualty of the war, Lady Eambreth's happiness. Then the lady in question returned, her eyes still red but her face no longer tear-splotched. She still looked like she was on the verge of breaking down, and Lothiriel smiled at her reassuringly.

"Are you coming with us, Your Highness?" Lady Eambreth asked.

Lothiriel hesitated. Her habit was to eat luncheon in her chambers or skip it altogether, enjoying the respite of quiet. "I'll be along in a moment," she promised, and the two other women left together.

-

It was late afternoon, and Lothiriel was in the Great Hall near the doors, talking with Lady Celgwyn about one of the tapestries. Suddenly there was a commotion outside, with one voice dominating over that of the guards.

She went to the doors and opened them, the heavy wood moving ponderously, and looked out. A huge man, tall and brawny, some of his muscle starting to run to fat, was shouting at the guards, who turned and bowed as soon as they saw her.

"What is going on?" Lothiriel demanded.

"This man--" the doorward began.

"I want my wife," the man interrupted, his voice a low rumble. "She's here." His hand rested on his sword hilt.

"And you are?" Lothiriel said, though she knew already.

He looked her up and down. "Freca... Your Highness."

"I have detained Lady Eambreth at the palace," Lothiriel said. "She will not be returning home."

Freca took a step forward, only to have his way barred by the crossed spearhafts of the guards. "She's my wife," he snarled. "I can do whatever--"

"You may not," Lothiriel cut him off. "She has decided she no longer welcomes your company. You can respect that, or you can leave Edoras."

"Leave Edoras?" he growled derisively. "At the word of a Gondorian--"

Lothiriel lifted her chin and stared him in the eye, and the guards stepped forward, forcing him back. After a moment, he curled his lips in a contemptuous sneer and spat before turning on his heel and stalking away. The gob landed right at her feet.

The guards made to go after them, but Lothiriel stopped them. She closed her eyes for a long moment, then opened them again to find Lady Celgwyn watching her.

She gestured back through the doors. "Shall we return to our inspection?"

-

The next day, word reached Meduseld that Freca of the Second Marshall's eored had left Edoras. Word of the confrontation, which had occurred in plain view, circulated through the palace.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: This may seem out of character, but I was rereading _The Two Towers_, and realized that Eomer is by no means an even-tempered man, so the scenario I had in mind changed a bit. I don't think it should change his relationship with Lothiriel, though-- unlike other Eomers, this one doesn't attack defenseless women. ;-)

Also, see the bottom for an announcement.

- - -

Eomer set the stack of papers he was carrying down on the long stone table of the Council chamber and sighed. He seemed to spend countless hours in here, working out trade agreements and making provisions to care for his people through the coming long winter; it was his duty as king, and he would never shirk it. But he missed his simpler days as Third Marshal of the Riddermark, when he was responsible for the well-being of his men and the keeping of the Eastfold; when he had spent his days riding over the wild plains instead of pacing the stony rooms of Meduseld. When his uncle had been alive, and his cousin Theodred.

Those days had disappeared forever when Aragorn son of Arathorn had risen out of the grass before him with his two companions. No; they had vanished days earlier, when Theodred had been slain at the Fords of Isen. Eomer's hands tightened unconsciously on the table. And perhaps those days had never been, for even while Theoden and Theodred still lived, Rohan had fallen into decay under the spell of Grima Wormtongue. It was up to him to restore it.

The door opened, and he turned quickly to see Elfhelm, Marshal of the Eastfold, enter. "Troubled thoughts, Eomer King?" the other man asked quietly.

Eomer shook his head. "Memory," he said, staring out the window to the golden roofs of Edoras. "Just memory."

The door opened again, admitting Herefara and Gamling. The former was the youngest on his council, but had distinguished himself at the Battle of the Black Gate by showing a brilliant tactical mind, saving a company of riders from certain death. His elder sister was one of Lothiriel's attendants, Eomer recalled.

"Is it true that you banished Freca from Edoras, Your Majesty?" Herefara asked now, his eyes alight with curiosity.

Eomer frowned. "What's this?"

Gamling shot Herefara a quelling look from his station by the door, but it was too late. "Her Highness banished Freca, Your Majesty," he said quietly, earning a surprised look from both king and companion-- but not from Elfhelm.

"Her Highness?" Eomer said with surprise. "What happened?"

Gamling and Elfhelm exchanged looks. "She discovered that he was beating his wife, Lady Eambreth."

Eomer's reaction was immediate. His eyes narrowed in fury. "One of my riders was abusing his wife?" he said quietly.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Gamling replied.

"How come no one knew of this?" the king demanded.

"It was common knowledge in Edoras, ere the war," Elfhelm said. "You would not have known, Your Majesty, having lived in Aldburg."

"We all thought he had changed when he returned from Mordor," Gamling added. "He fought with valor."

Eomer turned away. "Then let me make his banishment official," he said, his words clipped with anger. "He returns to Edoras on pain of imprisonment."

Gamling bowed. "It shall be as you have said." His voice was tinged with quiet relief.

Elfhelm hesitated, but knew his king would be furious if he was not told. "Freca did not go quietly, Your Majesty," he said.

Eomer looked up. "What do you mean, Elfhelm?" His voiced was tinged with a dark undercurrent.

Elfhelm related the circumstances of the encounter before the doors of Meduseld. As he did so, the king's face darkened, and his hand gripped his sword hilt. "Is he still in Edoras?"

"No, my liege," Gamling assured him. "He left yesterday." Elfhelm, who had known Eomer since he was born, thought the younger man looked disappointed.

"And the queen?"

"The queen is fine," Elfhelm said, catching Eomer's gaze with his own and holding it until the king relaxed, letting go of his sword hilt. He pointed out, "You saw her yesterday evening, and this morning."

Eomer looked abashed. "Yes, I did." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "And how is Lady Eambreth?"

Elfhelm looked sober. "Her physical injuries will heal very quickly now that they are no longer being aggravated."

Eomer fixed his marshal with a pointed stare. "That doesn't tell me anything."

"No, it doesn't," Elfhelm agreed. "But to learn anything else, you will have to ask the lady in question, sire."

Eomer nodded. "If she leaves Meduseld, I want two guards to accompany her until we receive word that Freca has found his way to another city." Elfhelm inclined his head in agreement.

Gamling laughed suddenly. "I wish you could have seen your wife, Your Majesty." Eomer muttered imprecations in Rohirric about what he would have done if he had, indeed, witnessed the event. Gamling added, "She does not lack in spirit, nor in courage." Elfhelm shot Eomer a keen look, but the king was looking away.

-

Lothiriel was making good progress on the orphanage, or so she thought. She had hired a carpenter to patch the holes and drafts in the deserted warehouse she intended to house the children in until another building could be constructed. But conjuring food and clothing for two hundred young children was a task that even an Istar might have had trouble with. She was acting on the latter, but she could not simply demand that the citizens of Edoras feed these waifs that would shortly be appearing in her midst. She had enough money, as part of her dowry, to pay for food for some time; if she had no other options, she could perhaps have asked the King for money from the royal treasury, but she did not like either of these ideas. There had to be a way to make the orphanage self-sufficient, but she had not yet found it. Nor had she found someone to supervise the day-to-day running of the orphanage, for she could not spend all of her waking hours there.

Yet her plans had progressed well from the germ of an idea that had sprouted in her head in the middle of the night, and she hoped to have things ready by the time orphans started arriving during the Harvest Festival. To that end she had been consulting with Hergyth about the best ways of storing large quantities of supplies.

So she wrote in her letters home, for though she wrote frequently, she did not reveal the extent of her unhappiness. Doing so would not help anyone, least of all herself. If she did not write how she felt, what was left to her was what she did, and she filled her letters with accounts of life in Meduseld and her activities with the orphanage. It might fool her parents, and her brothers; she hoped it would. At the very least, her young niece, three years old when she had departed Dol Amroth, would find the accounts of a foreign land fascinating.

Lothiriel folded the letter and sealed it. She would not send it until she received another letter from home, which might not be for two weeks.

-

She was seated in the antechamber the next day when the door opened and Lady Celgwyn entered. She curtsied to Lothiriel, but her countenance was troubled.

"Is something wrong, Lady Celgwyn?" Lothiriel asked as she curtsied in return.

The other woman hesitated. "That is for you to decide, Your Highness."

Lothiriel frowned. "What do you mean?"

"There are... rumors... being spread," Lady Celgwyn said finally.

"Of what nature."

Lady Celgwyn's hesitation made very clear her ambiguity about introducing the subject. "It is being said by a few that you are neglecting your duties as queen by creating this orphanage instead of restoring Meduseld."

_That's absurd_, was Lothiriel's first reaction, accompanied by a sinking sense of dismay. _Is not a queen's first duty to her people-- or at least her husband's people?_ Then: _Meduseld, restored?_

"I see," Lothiriel said finally. "You have been here longer than I have. Perhaps... you could tell me what most needs to be restored? I am afraid I have no benchmark from which to judge." She tried to read the face of her senior attendant, and ascertain her feelings on the subject.

"I believe the west rooms have decayed the most, my lady," Lady Celgwyn said carefully. It was a conversation of double meanings; Lothiriel was inquiring which repairs she should make to placate the Court, and Lady Celgwyn was expressing her opinion of the gossip through her response.

Lothiriel sighed mentally; there was nothing wrong with the west rooms except for an odor of must and a thick layer of dust, and by the expression in her senior's attendants eyes, she could tell Lady Celgwyn agreed. Still, she could not fight a Court battle over it; the very thought made her shudder. So she merely said, "Very well; thank you." She curtsied to Lady Celgwyn, and left the room to arrange for the west chambers to be cleaned, and to inquire of Hergyth what tapestries could be brought out of storage to freshen them.

-

Eomer was in the council chamber, poring over maps to determine how to best fortify the Eastenmet against incursions of stray bands of orcs, when he heard the horns that sounded the approach of a party. After vainly searching his memory to recall who had been expected, he quickly made his way to the broad terrace of Meduseld, intending to go from there to the watchtower to question the guard as to the identity of the newcomers. But he found the queen on the top step, watching the approaching line of wains with pleasure.

She saw him and curtsied. "My lord."

He bowed in return and gestured to the train. "Do you know who these are?"

"I believe they are from Gondor," she said. "Containing clothes."

He blinked. "Clothes?"

"Yes, my lord," she said. "For children. I wrote to my cousin, Lord Faramir, and mentioned that there was a shortage of clothes for the children that would be arriving. Minas Tirith has not been full for many generations, and there is much in its storerooms."

"You asked the Steward to send you wains of clothes?"

"No, my lord," she said. "I merely mentioned that we needed them." She had known that Faramir's thought process would mirror her own, however, and had consequently been expecting the wains to appear, though not in such great numbers. There were four, plus the accompanying outriders in Gondorian colors, and she wondered where she was going to store everything.

"My lady." A man came before her and bowed, and she smiled with delighted surprise.

"Captain Ilmeth," she said, curtsying. He was a good friend of her brother. "You had an uneventful journey, I hope?"

"Yes, my lady, except for some stormy weather."

"And how is Amrothos?"

"Well, when I left him, my lady. As was the rest of your family."

Eomer stood off to the side, watching the unloading of the wains, which were quite full. In addition to clothing they contained books and barrels, and as he strode down the steps to inquire of Eowyn and Faramir from the riders, he wondered what Lothiriel would make of the additions.

-

Lothiriel felt sick to her stomach as she sat and wove in the quiet antechamber. Brinweld's potion was not working, and the strange quiet mood of her ladies was not easing her mind. There was tension in the room, tension that had been to some extent present from the first day; yet it was not directed at her. Not entirely, at least.

Significant looks between some of her attendants only confirmed her suspicion that something was going on, but they chattered on only about the most inconsequential of topics: the weather, and the harvest. _What will they do in winter?_ Lothiriel thought. But even these shallow attempts at conversation did not persist long.

"Tell me, do the Rohirrim tell tales to their children?" she asked.

The ladies looked up in surprise. "Some of us do, Your Highness," Lady Cynwyn said. Lothiriel recalled that she was one of the youngest of her attendants, only a few years older than herself, but already had a son and a daughter. Some of the eldest of her attendants were grandmothers several times over, though not very old.

"Then you shall have to teach me these stories, and the songs," Lothiriel said. Her smile was genuine, for she knew her news would bring happiness; the prospect of an heir would soothe the war-worried minds of the Rohirrim. "For I wish to tell them to the child I will have."

Exclamations of joy and surprise greeted her announcement, as well as inquiries of when they could expect the happy event. For now, at least, the tension in the room had vanished as all were bound together by motherhood.

- - -

A/N: A relatively happy (and long) chapter... but don't worry, the angst will be back in the next one!

A/N 2: Out of a conversation between Lialathuveril and myself sprouted a strange idea: What would our Lothiriels talk about if they met? They're all so different in temperament, as well as the Eomers. Would anyone be interested in participating in a low-key RPG/collaborative fanfic of a "Meeting of the Minds", in which our various characters converse with each other?


	10. Chapter 10

Eomer stood and looked down at his sleeping wife. Her long, dark hair curled around her, spread out on the pillow and reaching to her stomach, which was beginning to swell gently. All tension had vanished from her face, leaving it peaceful and content. She looked so young.

He was conscience-stricken. She hadn't wanted to come here, hadn't wanted to marry him, and he suspected she didn't want to be pregnant, either, and he was at least partially responsible for all three situations. He knew she was still unhappy; it showed on her face in unguarded moments, when she thought no one was looking, and in the way she stared out the southern windows in the evenings.

And yet despite everything she was comporting herself well, with dignity and spirit and compassion. He respected and admired her for that, and for the courage she had displayed in leaving her home forever to come here, and in all situations since then. Not farthest from the front of his mind was the confrontation with Freca. He'd wanted to ask her about it, but didn't know exactly how; knew only that he wanted to tell her it was a good thing she'd done, and brave. Yet she already knew that, and wouldn't it be hypocritical of him to commend her for helping another woman out of a distasteful marriage?

So after a few moments, he turned away, helpless in a situation like this and not used to it. Eomer Eomundson, renowned as a warrior throughout the known lands of Middle-earth, could slay an orc one-handedly, could ride for hours without tiring, could and would fight to the death to defend his people. Yet he had no idea how to handle this, except by fumbling along as he had been. He did not want his wife to be unhappy.

It might have comforted him to know that she was actually not quite asleep, but in a sort of waking dream-state, and she was rather happy. She was thinking of her child, and wondering if it would be a girl or a boy. Lothiriel didn't care either way, really, but she contemplated the possibilities of both outcomes. And then memories floated up of the delight on the faces of her brothers as they had held their newborn children, and the weary, elated faces of her sisters-by-law. Such happiness could not be such a bad thing, she thought drowsily, not for her, and not for the king who had so much to worry about, and not for the people of Rohan, who would rejoice in the birth of an heir to the throne.

But Eomer could not read her thoughts, and so he went away troubled. And Lothiriel heard his retreating footsteps in her waking dream, and they disturbed her. She sank into a restless sleep, and did not wake at her accustomed time.

-

Later that day the courier from Gondor arrived, the first to take the new road under the White Mountains from the Morthond Vale. It was nearly as far a journey from Minas Tirith as the northward route, but Aragorn was often in the southern fiefs, and messages from him there would pass more quickly under the mountains.

Included in the leather pouch was a bundle of letters from Dol Amroth for his lady wife. Glad of the distraction, he stood, stretched, and went to take them to her himself. He found her not in the antechamber, which was deserted, but in the solar, sitting by herself and sewing.

"The looms are still today, my lady?" he greeted her.

She looked up. "Yes, my lord. I overslept, and when the ladies came and found me absent, they feared I was ill and went away again rather than disturb me."

Lothiriel looked unhappy at that, and he remembered that the official announcement of her pregnancy had been made not long before. Probably her attendants were treating her with more deference, or concern, or something. He held out the packet to her.

She looked at it, not comprehending, and then her eyes widened and her face broke into a radiant smile, and Eomer had his reward. "Thank you, my lord," she said, taking them eagerly.

He laughed. "I did nothing but carry them from my study. If you wish to thank the messenger, or give him something to carry back, we are keeping him here until tomorrow to make sure he gets rest and good food."

"I shall," she said, breaking the seal on the first letter. He watched her eyes start to scan rapidly down the page, and then she stopped herself and read more slowly, as if she were rationing the words, which she probably was. Eomer thought, watching her, that he would arrange for a messenger between Dol Amroth and Edoras, now that the path under the mountains was open. _No, I will tell her of the possibility, and allow her to arrange it if she wishes_, he thought. _I think she would prefer that_. The supposition was not a polite way of expressing confidence, but true uncertainty; he was still learning-- barely beginning to learn-- his wife's preferences, as she was learning his. It was tentative, but encouraging.

The solar was warm and brightly lit, a contrast to his musty study, so he sat down to read the letter from Eowyn that he'd tucked inside his tunic. Lothiriel, looking up at him, saw that he was smiling wistfully, and wished suddenly that she'd had a chance to meet the White Lady of Rohan. She watched her husband for a moment longer, struck by the simple, honest love displayed on his face as he read. Then she picked up her next letter, which was dated more recently than the other and was written in her brother Erchirion's hand. _I'll read this one_, she thought. _Then I'll save the others for later._

Eomer was reading about the harvest in the newly-cultivated portions of Ithilien when a soft gasp made him look sharply up. Lothiriel was on her feet, her face drained of all color, her eyes huge, one hand pressed to her mouth. She swayed on her feet, and then collapsed. Springing out of his chair, somehow Eomer managed to catch her before she struck the ground. "Lothiriel!"

Her skin was hot to the touch. He picked her up and carried her into the bedchamber, laying her gently down on the bed, then dashed out through the solar and the antechamber into the corridors. "Call for Brinweld!" he said to the first servant he saw. "Tell him the queen is ill, and needs to be attended immediately."

The man's eyes widened. "Yes, Your Majesty," he said, and hurried away.

Eomer paced back into the bedchamber, feeling helpless. When men in the field got fevers, the healers always tried to bring them down, so he soaked a washrag in water and laid it across her forehead, hoping that the coolness might revive her. It didn't.

On his peregrinations through the room he stepped on something that crinkled under his foot, and looking down he saw the letter his wife had been reading. She must have held onto it until he'd carried her in here. Hesitating, he picked it up, then scanned the first few lines for something drastic.

_Dear Lothiriel_, it read,

_I've no wish to alarm you, for she is quite recovered, but our mother has been seriously sick for some time with a sea-fever. We didn't want to burden you with this information, knowing there was nothing you could do..._

He put the letter down as the door opened and the healer of Meduseld entered. Quickly but without hurry he moved to the bedside and held the queen's wrist, then removed the washrag and felt her forehead. "What happened?" he asked, not looking up.

"She got bad news from Dol Amroth and collapsed," Eomer said. "Though I don't understand how that could cause a fever."

"I doubt it did," said Brinweld. "The fever was probably present beforehand, and the shock merely exacerbated the condition."

"Will she be all right?" Tendrils of guilt curled at Eomer's stomach.

The healer shook his head slowly. "She has a very high fever. I do not fear for her life, but will not be able to tell anything else until she wakes. I will stay until she does."

An hour passed, and Lothiriel remained unconscious. Finally Brinweld sent Eomer back to his study. "You are not doing anyone any good here, Your Majesty," he said. "I will let you know if there is any change." He gestured wryly to the servants who had collected in the room, all with legitimate errands, since word of the queen's illness had started spreading through Meduseld.

Eomer worked for two hours in his study and then went to supper in the Great Hall. Gossip had a way of getting distorted, and he wanted to reassure his people that he was all right and the queen was not dying. He wondered if Lothiriel would have anticipated just how many people approached him asking for further news of her, from one of the guards who had been her escort to the housekeeper to Lady Eambreth, whose husband had been banished not long before. Eomer felt another stab of guilt at this last inquiry, for he had not seen what had been going on under his very nose, and consequently this lady had suffered.

When he returned to the royal quarters, Brinweld said that Lothiriel's fever had come down some, but not much. "She is not in danger of dying, Your Majesty," he reiterated. "But if she does not wake up, or we are not able to get her to drink, or her fever does not come down, she might be."

"Is her illness going to spread through Edoras?" For a brief moment Eomer had a horrible vision of the proud city reduced to a charnel house, dead lining the streets. He swore he would not let that happen.

The healer dispelled the worry. "She is not contagious," he said. "Even you are in no danger of becoming sick."

The visions vanished, but they left a bitter taste in the king's mouth. A moment before he'd vowed to keep plague from decimating his people, but how could he have kept such a foolhardy promise? He was powerless against sickness, even more than he was powerless against a lady's sadness. Nor could he stop famine, or blizzards, or floods. He was responsible for his people... yet there was so much he could not protect them from.

Some of his thoughts must have been apparent on his face, for Brinweld added, "We have good provision against the plague, Your Majesty. It has not struck for hundreds of years, but the knowledge of its prevention has been passed down and widely spread."

"Thank you," Eomer said, and meant it. He looked around the room, saw the bundles of herbs laying on the desk, and the bottles of liquid by the bed. "I suppose I'd better sleep in the solar, then."

Brinweld shook his head. "You would get no rest. We will be in and out all night." He considered Eomer. "You would be better off in Lady Eowyn's old quarters, Your Majesty," he said, and then added, "I will send for you if need be."

"Thank you," Eomer said again, and started to go.

"Your Majesty." Brinweld called him back, looking regretful.

"What is it?"

The healer looked around, then lowered his voice. "You realize that this illness may cause Her Highness to lose her child."

Eomer had not considered the possibility until now, but it was only logical. "Yes, I do." His mother had lost a child between himself and Eowyn to a fever.

Brinweld looked thoughtful. "Even if she does not, she will not have an easy delivery."

"Why not?"

"She is slender," the healer explained. "Her hips are narrow. It will be difficult for the child to pass through the birth canal."

Eomer recalled, not willingly, that Queen Elfhild had died in childbirth. "Will Lothiriel's life be in danger?"

"I do not know, Your Majesty," said Brinweld. "There is risk every time a woman gives birth. But I do not fear for her."

The king shook his head. "They say Gondorians can heal every sickness besides old age, and their women never die in child bed. Perhaps it is time we learned from them." He made a mental note to ask Aragorn, next time he wrote, if he could inquire if any of the healers in the Houses of Healing would be willing to come to Rohan.

-

_Lothiriel was in the kitchens of Dol Amroth. It was a hot summer day, yet inexplicably the fires were burning hotly, and she wore long heavy skirts that tangled around her legs. Across from her sat her mother, discussing with the housekeeper how best to divide and store that year's harvest... except that couldn't be right, because the crops were still growing in the fields._

_She tried to follow the train of conversation, but her head ached horribly. "Excuse me, please," she said, climbing to her feet. The material around her legs threatened to trip her. "I fear I must retire. I'm not feeling well."_

_"Poor Lothiriel," her mother murmured. "I will come with you." She rose also and followed her daughter out of the room, calling, "Remember to harness the dogs only to the second-best carriage. And do not let the sea creatures overflow in the study again! Imrahil was quite upset when the crabs ate his manuscript."_

_This didn't seem quite right, but Lothiriel put it down to the pounding in her head. Once they reached her rooms, her mother gently unbraided her hair, and Lothiriel gratefully lay down on the cool sheets._

_"Tell me a story, mother," Lothiriel murmured as Illiven stroked her daughter's head. "Like when I was a child."_

_"Let's see..." her mother said. "Once upon a time, on the headland of Belfalas, was a beautiful walrus named Lothiriel and her brothers Elphir and Archir. They lived where the seaweed was green, and the moon sought another path down the line..."_

_This didn't seem quite right to Lothiriel either, but the gentle murmur of her mother's voice soothed her, and she drifted off to sleep._

Lothiriel awoke with a start and stared up, surprised, at a wooden ceiling. Her dream and the knowledge that she was in Edoras now returned at the same time, and suddenly she missed her home so much it was a dull ache in her chest.

Something else was wrong, but she couldn't quite pin it down. "Are you awake, Your Highness?" Lothiriel looked up to see a vaguely familiar face bending over her. Who was it?

"Yes, I am," she said, closing her eyes again. Like in the dream, her head was pounding terribly, and she was very warm. Sheets tangled around her legs in a way that was reminiscent of her skirts in the dream. The dream. Her mother!

Her eyes flew open. "Brinweld," she said. "Is there a letter? Perhaps dropped on the floor?"

"Here, Your Highness." The healer extended a piece of parchment. "Though I would ask that you not make yourself upset again."

Lothiriel didn't hear him as she unfolded the paper with trembling hands and scanned the first few lines, finding the information she had missed the first time: _She is quite recovered._

She sank back against the pillows, exhausted, and tried to read the rest of her letter, but the small print hurt her eyes, which were hot and sore, aching every time she moved them. "What day is it?" she murmured.

"You have been asleep since yesterday afternoon," Brinweld said.

Lothiriel nodded tiredly, the slight motion hurting her neck and her head, and slipped the letter under her pillow. Then she rolled over on her side, abstractedly noting from the sunlit windows that it was daytime, and closed her eyes again.

-

The ladies had gathered, a bit uncertainly, outside the door of the antechamber when Lady Celgwyn had arrived, for she had anticipated that they would not know what to do with the morning.

"Has anyone heard anything about the queen?" asked Lady Eambreth.

Lady Robrym raised an eyebrow. "My dear, I have heard many things about the queen," she said with a knowing look. "Which would you prefer to hear?"

"Her fever broke yesterday evening," said Lady Celgwyn, drawing attention back to her. "The healers believe her to be in no danger and on the way to recovery."

Lady Robrym looked miffed, though Lady Celgwyn was not so uncharitable as to attribute it to her news; she probably regretted the chance to spread more gossip. Most of the other attendants looked relieved.

But Lady Robrym was not to be quelled. "That's what comes of sending a snip of a Gondorian to be our queen," she sniffed. "She can't even stay healthy. How is she going to carry a baby and deliver it, too?"

"Probably in the traditional manner, Lady Robrym," Lady Celgwyn said drily. She almost added, _Unless you, in your experience, have come up with another_, but refrained. Striking at Lady Robrym's childless state would have been petty.

So instead she moved through the crowd of ladies and opened the antechamber door. "Are we going to carry on with the weaving, then?" Lady Cynwyn's voice was tinged with surprise.

"I believe Her Highness would wish us to," said Lady Celgwyn, holding the door open so the others could proceed inside. "So long as we are quiet, the solar should keep us from disturbing her."

"Far be it for us to question the desires of a foreigner," Lady Robrym murmured as she walked past. Lady Celgwyn did not deign to reply.

-

"How is the queen?" Elfhelm asked Eomer as they walked from his study after a long day of consultations with the Council.

"Her fever broke yesterday evening," the king said.

His Marshal nodded. "There are many who are anxious for her health."

"I know."

"Does she?"

Eomer considered. "I do not know."

Two ladies turned out of a side corridor and curtsied. Eomer and Elfhelm nodded in return and would have kept walking if the younger one had not murmured, "I am sorry for your loss, Your Majesty."

Eomer exchanged a quick look with Elfhelm. "What do you mean?"

The lady's eyes widened. "Did you not know? The queen has miscarried."

Sadness quickly followed on the heels of surprise, and Eomer did not notice the lady and her companion leave. "You should go to her," Elfhelm said quietly. "Make sure she knows you are not angry."

Eomer frowned. "Why should I be angry?"

"In a world where Frecas can beat their wives with impunity, it would not be inconceivable for her to assume that the King of Rohan would be angry with his queen for losing his heir," the older man said with a touch of wry bitterness.

"That man has worked more pain and evil than he could possibly have imagined when he laid a hand on his wife," Eomer said angrily. "If he should show his face in Edoras again--"

"Indeed," Elfhelm interrupted gently. "But he is not of concern now. Your wife is."

Eomer gave his old friend a sidelong glance, then nodded once. "Yes." They reached a cross corridor, and he turned to go, but Elfhelm stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"I am sorry," he said. "For both you and the queen."

Eomer bowed his head again. "Thank you," he said finally.

-

The antechamber and solar were both deserted when Eomer got there, but the giant looms were still in place. The sight of them reminded him of the queen's plans for the orphanage, and her desire to help the refugees. Both were evidence of her inner strength and determination; he only hoped those qualities would help her now, to see her through her misfortune.

Lothiriel's eyes were closed when he quietly opened the door, but she was not sleeping, for she looked up as he approached. "My lord," she said weakly. The room was otherwise deserted.

"My lady," he said, looking down at her. She was covered by a thick blanket and obviously cold and tired, but at his greeting she struggled to sit up. "I am sorry for your loss," he said finally, knowing the words were inadequate.

She frowned. "My loss?"

"One of the ladies said you miscarried," he said.

She looked confused, and then a slightly bitter smile spread across her face. "Nay, my lord, I have not miscarried. Do not fear; your heir is safe."

The strength of Eomer's elation surprised him. "I was not worried for my heir," he said gently. "I was worried for my child, and his mother."

A flush spread across his wife's face, and she looked down, but after a moment she said, "Thank you for that."

There was a short silence. Eomer said, "Do you want for anything?"

"Only health," Lothiriel said, "and the healers assure me that will not be long in returning. How fares Rohan? No one would tell me any news."

"There is little news to tell," he said. "The weather is still fine for the harvesters, and the fields are so prosperous this year that the Harvest Festival has been delayed another fortnight."

Lothiriel smiled wanly. "That is good news."

"Yes," he agreed.

"Do you know where my letters are?" she asked after a moment. "None of the healers could find them for me."

"I put them where they'd be safe," he explained over his shoulder as he crossed the room to retrieve them from the desk. "I should have realized you'd want them. Forgive me." He handed them to her, and her fingers curled possessively around the packet. She slipped it under her pillow.

"Thank you," she murmured. A faint stain rose in her cheeks and she said, "Forgive me for turning you out of your bed. I didn't mean to discommode you."

"You didn't," he assured her. There was another short silence. Then Eomer said, "I don't want to tire you, my lady. I am glad you are better."

She closed her eyes. "Thank you," she said again.

-

Lothiriel curled on her side after the king left. She could no longer lay on her stomach, and laying on her back for long periods of time was not comfortable, either.

He had thought she had miscarried, yet his first concern had been for her. _Her loss_, he'd called it, when it would have been his loss, too, and that of all of Rohan. Did he not care about his child, then? No; she knew instinctively that that was not true. He cared about his child, yet he also cared for-- or at least about-- her.

She probed her feelings about this and decided she was thankful to not have an indifferent husband. She knew he would be a good father to her child, as best as he was able, and perhaps in time their relationship might ease until they were more than wary acquaintances. Lothiriel respected the king, and was thankful for his kindness to her. Yes, she could find it in her heart to be more than a wary acquaintance; and in truth, perhaps they already were. _That is fortunate_, she thought, her musings turning slightly sardonic. _I am five months pregnant with his child_.

As if on cue there was a twinge from her stomach and she caught her breath. Was she to miscarry after all? The healers had left her earlier in the day, after two days of near-constant attendance, with Brinweld's promise that he would return soon. But he had not yet, and unless the king was still in the antechamber there would be no one to hear her if she called out. She knew she could not risk getting up.

Another faint flutter and she caught her breath again, but not in fear. What she felt was not the death pangs of her child, but its first faint movements. Lothiriel rested her hand on her stomach protectively even as a welter of wonder and guilt made her eyes tear up.

- - -

A/N: Wow, that ws a doozy. Hopefully it'll make up for not posting for so long. Also I'm going away for a couple of weeks so I won't be posting again for a while, but I'll try to get another chapter done before I go. The next one follows directly on the heels of this one.

I tried something new in this chapter; I think this is the first time I've included the POV, rather than just the thoughts, of anyone but Lothiriel or Eomer. I also included some sea creatures—more to follow, I think!

And I know that was a weird place to end it.


	11. Chapter 11

Lothiriel slept the rest of that day and dozed most of the next morning, waking occasionally to swallow pungent potions given to her by Brinweld. That afternoon, the third day since she had collapsed, she had the servants draw a bath for her, and then despite their protests dismissed them.

It took most of her strength to wash, and she knew she was probably being foolish and overexerting herself, but she did not want to remain isolated in the bedchamber any longer, and to go anywhere else she had to make herself presentable. So she bathed carefully, and dressed, and then was obliged to lay down and rest for a quarter of an hour before she could sit up again to braid her hair. Her clothing, which had hung more loosely on her when she could not keep food down, was beginning to pull tight across her stomach.

After she had rested again, she stood unsteadily and made her way carefully to the door. The solar was deserted, as she had expected and hoped. With the letters she had not yet read tucked under her arm, Lothiriel followed the wall to the window and sat down on the wide stone ledge before it. She could no longer tuck her feet up as she was accustomed to; doing so would put too much pressure on her stomach.

The exertion made her head spin, but after she closed her eyes for a few moments the dizziness passed. Her headache was gone as well, meaning she could finally focus on the small script of the letters, but she left them laying beside her as she looked out over Edoras. The leaves of the trees were changing colors and beginning to drop off, and the streets were a riot of orange, yellow and red. In some places she could already see small piles of leaves; these would be added to over the next days until they were burned on the last night of Sumorende, which would begin in a fortnight.

The door from the antechamber opened and a servant quietly stepped in. She looked surprised to see Lothiriel in the window seat, but she merely curtsied and said, "As you're up and about, Your Highness, with your permission I'll tidy up the bedchamber."

"Yes, please," Lothiriel said. She knew that chambermaids cleaned, every few days, the five rooms that comprised the royal quarters, but she'd never been present to see them. She realized that her occupying the bedchamber continuously for the past four days would have interfered with the routine.

A moment later the door from the antechamber opened and Lady Celgwyn looked in. "Your Highness," she said. "I thought I heard the maid greet you." She looked concerned. "Should you be up?"

Lothiriel smiled. "Good afternoon, Lady Celgwyn. It is good to see you. Forgive me for not standing."

Lady Celgwyn curtsied. "It is good to see you as well, Your Highness."

Lothiriel gestured to a seat. "How are things with the ladies?"

"Well, Your Highness. We have continued working on the blankets."

Lothiriel was startled and touched. "Thank you," she said. "It is... they are important to me."

There was a short pause. Then Lady Celgwyn said, "We were glad to hear that the rumors of your miscarriage were false."

Lothiriel hesitated. "Lady Celgwyn, did Lady Robrym spread those rumors?"

A troubled expression flitted across her senior attendant's face. "No, Your Highness," she said. "Brinweld sent for an herb that is generally used to purge afterbirth, but is also a fever-reducer, and the servant who fetched it told the other servants."

Lothiriel nodded. "But Lady Robrym has been spreading rumors," she guessed. She knew her surmise for truth when Lady Celgwyn looked unhappy.

"It is not anything you need to know or want to know, Your Highness," she said. "No one believes her."

"Nevertheless, I think it would be better if I knew," Lothiriel said.

Lady Celgwyn still hesitated. "It will not help you to hear it. It is shameful, sickening slander."

"Then I do need to know, much as I would like not to," said Lothiriel, "for if one of my attendants is spreading such rumors I should address it."

Lady Celgwyn sighed. "She is saying you were pregnant before your marriage, Your Highness."

Lothiriel's guts tightened. "With someone else's child?"

"With King Eomer's child."

Her first reaction was bewilderment: _When does she think we possibly could have behaved improperly?_ she thought. _I saw him from a distance in Minas Tirith and then met him two days before my wedding. We didn't have a private conversation until we were married._ Then: _Why does she insult her king as well as me?_ "Lady Celgwyn--" she began, and stopped.

"I do not believe her," said the other woman.

"Thank you," Lothiriel said, and meant it. "But what I was going to ask was if you knew why Lady Robrym resents me so much. Did she desire to be queen?" She gladly would have relinquished the position, but she would not wish such a queen on the people, nor such a wife on the king. Somehow she knew even she was an improvement on Lady Robrym, despite the tentative nature of her relationship with the king.

But Lady Celgwyn shook her head. "You are a foreigner, and you take precedence over her," she said. "You have not even been here for six months, and yet you are better liked than she is. And you are with child."

Lothiriel frowned. "Why should that matter?"

"Lady Robrym cannot have children," Lady Celgwyn said after a moment. She hesitated again. "I do not know if she wants them anymore, even. She did, once, and then they did not come, and perhaps she persuaded herself that she no longer cared. But to see you come here, and immediately conceive--"

"I see," Lothiriel said. _I'd give her my fertility, if I could. It's not as if I want it!_ Then she thought that that wasn't completely honest; as a child, and later as a young woman watching her brothers' children, she'd envisioned and wanted her own as any woman would. She'd just imagined having them under different circumstances. "Thank you for telling me."

"Are you going to take action?"

Lothiriel sighed. "I don't know." She could not imagine a circumstance in which she would reprimand Lady Robrym for her behavior to Lothiriel, herself, but by insulting the king she crossed a line. And since she was one of Lothiriel's attendants, it was Lothiriel's responsibility to curb her behavior. She did not want to appear weak, yet neither did she want to start a court war she would probably lose, and which would divide the court. The Rohirrim had suffered so much in the Great War; it would be unforgivable to turn them against each other over something so petty.

She realized she had been silent for some time when Lady Celgwyn said, "Lady Eambreth has been anxious for you."

"I would be glad to see Lady Eambreth," Lothiriel responded with a smile. Then she sobered. "You know her better than I, Lady Celgwyn. How is she?"

"You mean after Freca's departure?"

Lothiriel nodded.

Her senior attendant considered, her expression serious. Finally she said, "She is much happier now."

"Good."

"Her worst fear now is that she is pregnant."

Lothiriel winced inwardly. Her own situation had caused her enough misery; how much worse to conceive the child of a man you feared, the child of a man who beat you. "What if she is?" she asked. "Would Rohirric custom compel her to return to Freca?" Her fingers curled tightly around the end of her armchair.

Lady Celgwyn shook her head. "It happens rarely enough that husband and wife separate, Your Highness," she said. "There is no precedent regarding the child of such a union. But King Eomer is a just man."

"Yes," Lothiriel agreed. Then: "Do husbands and wives rarely separate because abuse is rare-- or because no woman admits to it?" She gave her senior attendant a level look.

Lady Celgwyn's expression hardened. "We are not barbarians, Your Highness."

"I have never thought you were," Lothiriel countered. "Yet I had never thought one of my attendants was being beaten by her husband, either. I ask only because of the occurrence of what I thought uncommon."

The other woman seemed to relax a bit. "It is not as uncommon as it should be," she said. "That is, nonexistent. But if a woman's family and neighbors suspect she is being hurt, they will encourage her to leave. Often a male relative will fight the husband, or if he is a soldier his marshal will reprimand him. But it is not an easy thing for a woman to own up to abuse, Your Highness."

"No," Lothiriel murmured. "It is not so different in Gondor." Suddenly she felt light-headed, and leaned against the wall.

"You should lay down, Your Highness," Lady Celgwyn observed.

Lothiriel nodded. "I will as soon as the chambermaid finishes." As if on cue, the inner door opened and the somberly-clad servant stepped out. She smiled and curtsied to the two ladies, and uttered a stream of words that was too quick for Lothiriel's knowledge of Rohirric. She had a moment of panic until Lady Celgwyn translated.

"She offers her congratulations on your pregnancy, and wishes you an easy delivery," she said, and added, "It's a common expression for new mothers."

Lothiriel turned to the woman, smiled, and thanked her in her own language; the chambermaid blushed and curtsied again, and then picked up her basket and left.

Lothiriel stood and steadied herself against the wall. Lady Celgwyn stood as well and offered her arm, but Lothiriel shook her head. "Thank you for your kindness in coming to see me, and for your honesty."

Lady Celgwyn inclined her head. "Both ar my duty and pleasure, Your Highness. May you recover quickly." She curtsied, but stayed in the solar until she saw Lothiriel safely in the bedchamber.

Lothiriel sat down heavily and waited until the dizziness passed before getting up and washing her face and hands. Then she lay back down with a thick piece of wood as a hard surface to answer her letters.

-

The next day she was again sitting in the solar, on the window ledge, leaning back against the wall and looking out at the city below, when the door from the antechamber opened. She looked up to see Lady Eambreth hesitating on the threshold. "Lady Celgwyn said we couldn't all come to see you, but that you had asked about me?" She smoothed her hands over her skirt.

"The others wanted to see me?" Lothiriel was surprised.

Lady Eambreth nodded. "Most of them, Your Highness. Lady Cynwyn especially. And we all wish for your speedy recovery."

"Thank you," said Lothiriel. "I am feeling much better. Please, sit down." She got up and carefully moved to one of the chairs. "How are you?"

"Well, Your Highness," Lady Eambreth said, but her expression belied her. "I am much better since-- since Freca is gone." Her hands were not quite steady, but her voice was strong. "Thank you, Your Highness. I--"

"I do not want your thanks," Lothiriel said, shaking her head. "Not for doing something I should have done months before, that should never have been necessary. I only want you to be happy, and--" she hesitated. "I think you are not, despite what you say. Is anyone bothering you because of what happened?"

"No, Your Highness."

"Then what is it?"

Lady Eambreth hesitated. "This will sound childish," she admitted, "but I do not know what to do." She looked down at her hands. "Before I was my father's daughter, and then I was Freca's wife and your attendant, and I knew what was expected of me. Now--" she shook her head, and then finished in a rush, "it is very well to sit in a room and weave-- and I know we are doing good work-- and to walk with the other ladies, and gossip with them, and go riding-- but I would like to do more. I-- I think I might be good at something, if I tried." She looked down and twisted the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. "Forgive me, Your Highness, I did not mean to sound discontent--"

Lothiriel stopped her apology with a shake of her head. She felt a surge of-- regret, bitterness-- and realized that she harbored the same sentiments as Lady Eambreth, yet could not do anything about it. At the same time, she was grateful that she could help Lady Eambreth, at least, escape a similar trapped fate. "What would you like to do?"

Lady Eambreth lifted her chin. "I would like to help with your orphanage," she said, and added shyly, "I like children."

"I would welcome your assistance," Lothiriel told her after a moment of surprise at the first part of her statement. "Is there anything in particular you would like to help with?"

"I would like to help with the children," said Lady Eambreth. "Help take care of them. I know you have probably already hired women, but..."

Lothiriel shook her head. "I have not hired anyone," she said. "And it would give me more comfort to know that you were there than any stranger. Would you be willing to live at the orphanage and oversee the day-to-day affairs? Or do you enjoy court too much?"

Lady Eambreth's eyes widened. "I would like that very much," she said. "To run everything. That is-- that is what you are asking?"

"It is," Lothiriel confirmed.

"Then yes, I would be willing."

"Thank you," Lothiriel told her. "You have done me a greater service than you could imagine. Yes," she reiterated firmly when Lady Eambreth started to shake her head. "What worried me most was not knowing how I would ensure that the children were well cared for. I know you will take good care of them."

"I will," Lady Eambreth said with a small smile. "And I think I will no longer lack for things to do."

"No," Lothiriel agreed with a smile of her own. "I had expected children to arrive by now, but now I am grateful for the reprieve. Perhaps the Rohirrim do not want to entrust their children to the care of strangers," she added after a moment.

"They will come, Your Highness," said Lady Eambreth. "In Edoras, I-- hear things, and people approve of what you are doing. They will come."

Lothiriel nodded, gratified by the repeated gossip. "I very much hope so," she said. "Tomorrow you can go to the warehouse and see what has been done and what still has to be done. I will leave the arrangements to your liking, though I will be happy to help with any of it."

"The warehouse?" Lady Eambreth asked in surprise. "But--?"

"Will the warehouse not suffice?" Lothiriel was also surprised. "I have had a carpenter in to patch all of the gaps and make the building snug. It will not have drafts."

Lady Eambreth shook her head. "No, Your Highness. The warehouse will work well. Do you-- may I see the plans you have made?"

Lothiriel nodded. "They are in the other room," she said, and started to rise, but Lady Eambreth stopped her.

"I will get them," she said, and then her face flushed. "That is, if you do not object to my going in there."

Lothiriel was a little puzzled, but shook her head. "Not at all," she said. "They are on the desk, under the red paperweight. But do not take the stack next to it; those are the king's."

Lady Eambreth disappeared into the next room and quickly returned with the stack of parchment. "You have made a lot of plans, Your Highness," she said, looking surprised at the quantity of paper. "You have thought about this a lot."

"I have," Lothiriel agreed. "I want it to go well." Lady Eambreth sat down, and Lothiriel took the papers from her and spread them out. "This is how I proposed to feed them..." she began.

Lady Eambreth's interest never flagged; she was anxious to know about every detail. So when Eomer returned from council hours later, he found them still sitting in the solar, discussing the plans for the orphanage. Lothiriel and Lady Eambreth stood and curtsied; the king nodded and said, "Good evening." When he'd passed through into the bedchamber, Lothiriel sat down more heavily than she'd intended.

Lady Eambreth hurried to your side. "I stayed to long, Your Highness, I've worn you out!"

Lothiriel shook her head. "I just need to lay down, I think." She gingerly stood up again.

Lady Eambreth offered her arm as support. "Do you want help, Your Highness?"

Lothiriel shook her head again. "It is not far to the door." She inclined her head. "Thank you, Lady Eambreth," she said. "It is a great service you undertake."

Lady Eambreth curtsied, and, like Lady Celgwyn, watched until the queen was safely through the door. The king was standing near the desk; he looked up when Lothiriel entered, and quickly came to help her to the bed. "You have enlisted Lady Eambreth for your orphanage?"

Lothiriel shook her head. "She volunteered," she said. "She wanted something to do."

Had Eomer not been so preoccupied with the events of the council, he would have noticed the bitterness in his wife's voice, but as it was he was oblivious. "That will be good for her and for them," he observed.

"Yes," Lothiriel agreed, and sighed softly. The only thing she had not told Lady Eambreth was her worries about making her orphanage self-sufficient; she wanted her to be able to arrange things as she liked, without care to the cost. At the same time, Lady Eambreth's taking on of all the details for the orphanage meant that Lothiriel would have that much less to do, and she had truly enjoyed the planning; it had filled the long evenings quite nicely. But Lothiriel could not possibly oversee the orphanage herself, and so for the good of the children it was time to turn it over to someone else.

She lay back, exhausted, and quickly fell asleep.

- - -

A/N: I renamed the Harvest Festival Sumorende; it's a transliteration of Samhain into Old English.

I wrote this chapter while out of town, but I'm back now, so hopefully I'll be back to regular updates. I learned some interesting things about Lady Eambreth that will come up in the future, and also started writing the last chapter, which has been in my head almost since the idea for the story.

Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story; I appreciate it very much!


	12. Chapter 12

In the following days she had plenty of time for contemplation and solitary activities, for Brinweld had forbidden her to rejoin her ladies until he gave his approval, though one or two visited almost every day. She enjoyed these periods of conversation, for they were her link to the outside world, and she had also come to enjoy talking with almost all of her ladies, though she looked forward to the visits of Lady Celgwyn and Lady Eambreth the most.

But she also came to count her time alone as an unexpected boon, for she suddenly had much sewing to do: her dresses strained at her stomach and had to be let out, and she had small clothes to make against the coming of the child. Her last project was one that she worked on only during the day; having convinced Lady Eambreth to accompany her, she'd taken a slow trip to the stables to visit Annwen, and there had noticed that the king's saddle blanket was sadly worn. So she undertook to make a new one.

The king noticed the amount of time she spent sewing. One evening he asked, "Cannot your ladies help you with that?"

Lothiriel laid down her gown for a moment. "I would not ask them to take out my gowns for me," she said. "And in Belfalas--" her voice caught in her throat, and she swallowed a few times-- "in Belfalas a woman's female relatives and closest friends help her make her small things." These sewing circles, or mother-makings as they were called, were much anticipated social events; the women would gossip, and eat, and perhaps listen to music as they worked. The mothers in the group would give advice and tell stories for the mother-to-be, and the childless women would silently count their blessings or wish for their own children, depending on the stories. One never sufficed, of course, even in the poorest households, and to the consternation of the husbands; several gatherings were always necessary to prepare a sufficient quantity of items. Lothiriel had been to many, first as a shy girl hiding behind her mother's skirts at the mother-makings of her aunts and her mother's friends, and then in her own right at those of her sisters-in-law and close friends.

Lothiriel swallowed again and stared intently out the window, and Eomer watched her silently, his head in his hands, until her shoulders stopped shaking. Twice he got up and started across the room to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, and each time he turned back. Finally, when he thought she had stopped crying, he sat down at his desk to write a letter-- or a note, as this would not leave the court of Edoras. But as he wrote, he looked up frequently to watch his wife.

-

She finished the saddle blanket on the first day of Sumorende.

She'd made it out of soft dark green cloth and worked an intricate pattern of square knots in thread of gold and dark red along the edges. On one side she'd embroidered a running horse, many and tail flying on the wind, and on the other a horse rampant, both white. She reinforced the center layer where the saddle would sit with an extra layer of cloth, fastened with sturdy black thread. Finally inside the embroidered she sewed a delicate edge of tiny white simbelmyne, faintly outlined with a single line of gold. It took her many hours, but when it was done, she was pleased.

She draped it over a chair and picked up her gown for the evening to make sure she'd finished all of the stitches. It was a dark green one that she'd brought from Dol Amroth but had never worn before she'd had to alter it. She thought the color made her look too pale, but tonight she would wear it as a tribute to the Rohirrim.

A knock on the door startled her. "Come in," she called, putting down the dress. A maidservant stepped inside and curtsied.

"Lady Eambreth sent me, Your Highness, to tell you that the first children have arrived at the orphanage."

Lothiriel's eyes widened. "Thank you." The woman curtsied again and disappeared. Lothiriel's hands went to her hair, and then to her dress, making sure each was orderly, before she replaced her thin slippers with heavier boots and hurried out through the antechamber.

Halfway to the orphanage, two guards flanking her as always, shortness of breath forced her to slow down. She grimaced; the growing child must be putting pressure on her lungs, for she'd never had a problem like this before.

She reached the warehouse and knocked on the door, waiting until Lady Eambreth bid her enter before she pushed against the heavy wood and stepped inside. Lothiriel had to blink a few times until her eyes adjusted to the relative dimness and she saw Lady Eambreth sitting with three children at the end of one of the long tables.

"Your Highness!" Before Lothiriel could stop her, Lady Eambreth had risen and curtsied. The children, two boys and one girl, looked up from their meal in surprise, then clumsily started to get to their feet as well.

Lothiriel shook her head. "Please, do not allow me to disturb you," she said. Perhaps enticed by the food before them, the children took her words at face value more readily than did Lady Eambreth, and promptly resumed their seats. The elder boy looked to be perhaps ten, and shared a strong family resemblance with the boy next to him, who was probably his brother and also probably six or seven. The girl was very young, surely no older than four, and had distinctive coppery curls, cropped short around a heart-shaped face.

"This is Folcred, Your Highness, and this is Fastred," Lady Eambreth said, indicating the elder boy and then the younger. "They are brothers from the West-march." Lothiriel smiled at that; she knew Folcred and Fastred had been twin sons of a king of Rohan, and admired the spirit of the peasant woman who had named her own sons after such. "And this is Framhild, their cousin."

The young girl met Lothiriel's friendly gaze with a direct, brown-eyed stare of her own. "Are you the queen?" she asked.

Lothiriel smiled. "Yes, I am."

Framhild considered this. "You're pretty."

Lothiriel felt her smile deepen. "Thank you," she said.

"Aunta Foldwyn said you was from Gondor," Folcred said, pausing to slurp soup.

"Yes," Lothiriel said. "I was born in Dol Amroth, by the sea."

"The sea?" said Fastred. "Aunta Foldwyn said that was an old wives' tale. Is it real then?"

After a brief moment of shock-- _but why would they believe in the sea? Of course it would sound fantastical to someone who'd never seen it_-- Lothiriel answered, "As real as you or I. The Isen and the Adorn, that bound the West-march, both flow to the sea, though not the same one I know." Fastred's forehead twisted in thought. "Lady Eambreth, who brought them here? Surely we can give him or her a hot meal and perhaps a place to stay for the night?"

"They came by themselves, Your Highness," Lady Eambreth said, her expression and her faint inflection expressing that which she did not say outright.

Lothiriel was too shocked to be so circumspect. "All the way from the West-mark?"

"Apparently their aunt put them with a caravan of traders that was going as far as the Westfold, and then eventually on to Edoras, but the children decided not to wait and to come here on their own."

"Aunta Foldwyn couldn't bring us," Folcred said. "Said she was too old to look after us proper, let alone come all the way to Edoras, but that we'd be better off here. She's Framhild's grandma," he added.

This startled Lothiriel for a moment, as the children were so close in age, but after a moment's consideration it made sense. Framhild might be the eldest child of one this Aunt Foldwyn's elder children, and Folcred and Fastred sons of a much younger sibling. Rohirrim women often bore many children-- she winced at this thought-- or children spread over a wide range of ages.

"Well you shall be welcome here," she told them, "and well-looked after by Lady Eambreth. I hope soon there shall be many more children to keep you company."

Folcred looked around the large warehouse, the corners and further portions of which were dim in the late afternoon light, with skeptical curiosity. "What'll we do here? Work?"

"If there is something you like, and are good at," Lady Eambreth said, drawing their attention back to her. "But whether there is or not you shall eat three good meals a day, and sleep in a warm place, and have comfort when you are ill."

Folcred tilted his chin up and his eyes darkened. "Aunta Foldwyn wasn't destitute, marm," he said. "We hadden that there. She took proper care of us, though she was old."

Lothiriel realized they'd offended his pride. Lady Eambreth, however, merely said gently, "Then I am glad for you," and the boy's face flushed and he dropped his eyes.

She cast about for something to say, but this seemed to have mollified Folcred completely, and Lothiriel suddenly saw how far the afternoon had advanced. "I beg your pardon but I must go," she said. "Lady Eambreth, are you coming to Sumorende?" For she suddenly realized the constraint she had put upon her former attendant's activities by asking her to take this post. Yet she had accepted unhesitatingly.

Lady Eambreth looked at the children. "I think we shall," she said. "They are not so many that I cannot look after them there." The eyes of the three orphans widened; Sumorende was celebrated everywhere, and they had to have some idea what the festivities in the capital would be like.

"Than perhaps I shall see you there," Lothiriel said, and bid them quickly farewell, and hurried out the door, apologizing to the two guards for keeping them waiting for so long. They gravely assured her that it was of no consequence, and this time it was not her apprehension but her haste that made her miss the faint amusement in the senior guard's voice. But he was not laughing at his queen.

As she hurried back she thought with dismay how inadequate the warehouse might prove after all. With two hundred children sleeping and eating there, on the cots and long tables, there would be no privacy, no room to think. It would be unbearable on winter days when the weather confined them indoors, and how would they manage the tutor she hoped so much to hire for the children?

She reached the royal quarters and hurried through to the bedchamber, where she found the king already there. He was looking at the saddle blanket, which she had left draped over a chair, and as she watched, he extended a finger as if to trace the embroidery, and then pulled back.

"Good evening," he said, looking up and seeing her. "Did you make this? It's beautiful."

"Thank you," she said. "It is for you."

He was surprised. "I thank you for your care, my lady."

"You are welcome, my lord." There was silence. Lothiriel had never considered how she was going to present him with the blanket, and the abruptness of the subject's arising had only made things more awkward. But the king seemed to appreciate the gesture.

She picked up her dress from the chair. "Please excuse me, my lord. I must dress for the festival."

"Forgive me, I did not mean to detain you," he said. "And thank you."

-

The feast for the opening night of Sumorende was held in the Great Hall. All the citizens of Edoras were welcome to attend, and as many as could fit came, though many more gathered in the streets outside for other festivities.

Everyone was in a merry mood, and it was contagious; Lothiriel found herself smiling as she ate, though she was tired, and knew she would have to remain in attendance the whole evening, and probably into the early morning. The king would tell her she could go, but she did not want to ruin the rare exuberance of the Rohirrim by appearing unwell. They needed to celebrate a successful harvest, and the beginning of their kingdom's slow recovery from the devastating war, without worrying whether or not the queen was well enough to bear the heir to the throne.

Minstrels from all over the country had traveled to Edoras for the week-long harvest festival, and the air was filled with wonderful music. It was not so unfamiliar as it had once been, and she found her feet tapping to the rhythm of the deep wooden drums.

As if he had read her mind, the king turned to her and offered his arm. "Would you like to open the dancing, my lady?" he asked.

Lothiriel had been expecting this, and knew it was expected of her, as well. She knew the first dances would be relatively tame, and she would be able to walk through them with ease, even despite her swelling stomach. So she inclined her head and stood carefully, allowing the king to lead her to where the tables had been pushed back to make room for dancing. The people cheered heartily at the sight of their young king and his beautiful, pregnant wife, for they looked well together; and those who knew Lothiriel, and were present, cheered their queen.

As she had hoped the dancing was easy, and she was soon able to return to her seat on the dais, though many of her neighbors had disappeared into the tumultuous space below. The king sat with her for a time, but he was soon called by men from his former éored to join them in a circle dance of the East-fold. So Lothiriel sat alone for a time before she stood and made her way outside for some fresh air. Her head buzzed with fatigue, but the coolness of the night helped to steady her.

Her dark hair was distinctive, but most of the people were too caught up in celebration to observe, so she wandered unnoticed through the streets immediately around Meduseld. The celebrations were merry, bordering on raucous, with ale and beer flowing freely, even for the very young. Men made loud, boisterous toasts while women gathered in groups and talked, or walked the streets arm-in-arm, looking at the street vendors who had already arrived. Little children ran laughing and yelling underfoot; courting couples kissed openly, more than a little tipsy, or snuck off to dark corners for privacy. The old and lame sat on wooden chairs and reminisced, watching the festivities with gentle smiles, enjoying it through the eyes and legs of those more able. These were the Rohirrim, Lothiriel thought; not restrained and weighed down by the cares of war and hunger, but happy and free, celebratory instead of sober, clad in their best, brightest, well-patched clothes.

She turned a corner and happened upon Lady Eambreth, sitting with some of the attendants who had not attended the Meduseld festivities, as well as other ladies of Edoras. Folcred and Fastred sat one on each side of Lady Eambreth, blinking quickly in an effort to appear awake, while Framhild was curled up fast asleep on her lap, thumb in mouth. A young guard leaned against the fence behind them, watching the festivities with an interested eye but content to remain in the company of the ladies.

Lothiriel greeted them and talked for a few moments, succeeding in preventing them from making much sign of her presence. Then she bid them good evening and passed on, heading back towards the Great Hall. As she walked a tall rider stumbled and spilled a full tankard of ale on her shoes and stockings; he apologized profusely, but was too drunk to speak coherently, or to recongize her. When she narrowly missed being knocked to the ground by two wrestling blacksmiths, Lothiriel began to think that perhaps she ought to have brought her guard, but she made it back to Meduseld without incident.

She hadn't been missed, or if she had, those looking for her had assumed she was elsewhere in the Great Hall. She resumed her seat on the dais, now otherwise completely deserted, and watched the happy people below.

Her breath caught in her throat. The growing season in Belfalas was a little longer, but owing to the delay in Rohan's Sumorende, Dol Amroth was probably celebrating its own harvest festival right now. It would be the first time her family had been divided at such a celebration, and her heart ached to think of her empty place at the high table of Dol Amroth. No, not empty; it simply would not have been set this year, in the small courtyard that overlooked the much larger one where their people would gather. Dol Amroth was larger than Edoras, and the celebrations spilled all over the city, through the warehouse district and onto the docks. When the weather was warm enough, or even when it was not, merrymakers celebrated on the ships and in the water, and every year the festivities were marred by a handful of drunken drownings.

Lothiriel felt a faint flutter in her abdomen, and as she rested a hand on the growing bulge in her stomach, she only felt worse. She'd written her family the news of her pregnancy, and received letters in return from her mother, and brothers, and sisters-in-law, and a rare one from her father; even her eldest niece, a girl of six, had written her a crooked little note in all capitals with many cherished misspellings. Yet they would not be here to share this event with her. Her mother would not be here to hold her hands during labor; her sisters would not show off the newborn to its father, as she had for them.

"Different from Gondor, Your Highness?"

The quiet voice broke into her thoughts and she looked up, startled, to see Lord Elfhelm watching her. She had to swallow twice before she could say, "Yes, it is."

He nodded; the Marshal was a lot more sober than she would have expected, especially given his usual alcohol consumption at suppers. He was sober enough, at least, not to pursue his line of questioning. "Would you like to dance, Your Highness?"

Lothiriel looked at the crowded floor with skepticism. The celebrations had gotten wilder even in here, and the dances were much faster and more complicated now.

As if he read her thoughts, Elfhlem said, "It is a pattern dance. You can move at whatever speed you wish."

She did know the steps, and if she refused him, politeness would require her to give a reason. So she stood and tried to smile gamely, and then followed the Marshal down the shallow steps to the crowd of people.

Focusing on her feet took too much concentration for her to feel sad, as long as she carefully kept her mind from remembering all the dances she had passed at the harvest festivals in Dol Amroth, and the exertion required likewise did not leave her with any energy to spare. She did not notice Elfhelm studying her intently, but he saw when she stopped blinking back tears, and was satisfied.

-

Eomer was startled to see his queen dancing with Elfhelm. His marshal was perceptive, and he would not have brought Lothiriel out onto the hot, crowded dance floor without reason.

So Eomer ended his conversations and made his way back to the dais as she and Elfhelm returned there. Lothiriel's face was pale with fatigue, and he realized how late it was. Of course she would not have left, not tonight, though he would have wished her to.

"Shall we retire?" Eomer asked, offering Lothiriel his arm for courtesy and support. "The festivities will probably continue until morning, but I've never attended them that late." He shot his marshal a surreptitious look of gratitude for whatever it was he had done.

"Yes, please," she said, her voice low and quiet. She was trembling with exhaustion, he realized as they walked back to the royal quarters, and when they reached them, she went to bed immediately. But Eomer did not know that she laid awake for a long time, hearing the sounds of merriment outside and wishing to hear the noise of the sea behind them.

- - -

A/N: This isn't one of the better chapters, and I may be revising it after I get some sleep myself. More interesting things and angst coming, I hope.


	13. Chapter 13

Orphans continued to come to Edoras in a steady stream, and Lothiriel visited the orphanage every day during the week of Sumorende. She was afraid Lady Eambreth would be overwhelmed, but the former attendant threw herself into the fray with surprising, steady strength.

"I am so very happy, Your Highness," she went so far as to say with a delighted smile when Lothiriel managed to convince her to come up to Meduseld for an afternoon for tea.

Lothiriel returned the smile, heartwarmed at the sight of Lady Eambreth radiant when only a few months before she had been quiet, scared and bruised. "Then I am glad for you, Lady Eambreth," she said. "And for the children."

Lady Eambreth cradled her mug in her hands. "I wanted children," she said after a moment, and Lothiriel leaned forward a little at this revelation, surprised. "I would have liked even a child of Freca's, for I could have loved it, and it would not have been like its father." Her cheeks flushed, but her voice remained steady. "I would have made sure of it."

So Lady Eambreth was unable to conceive as well? Or was it Freca who was infertile? Lothiriel hoped it was the latter, that he might not sire unwanted children on anyone in his drunken wanderings. And perhaps Lady Eambreth would somehow have children of her own, one day. It was none of her business, Lothiriel realized, and started to turn her thoughts and the conversation elsewhere.

But Lady Eambreth wanted, or needed, to talk about it. "But I knew I could not bring a child into a world where it would be abused," she said. Her fingers laced more tightly together around the mug of tea. "So I took contraceptives." Lothiriel was very startled, but made no sign of it. "I got them from Brinweld," she admitted, raising her chin. "I think he suspected what I used the lennis for, but he never said anything."

"That was good of him," Lothiriel murmured, her mind still trying to catch up with her ears. The senior healer in the palace of Dol Amroth, a very elderly man, had been adamantly against the use of contraceptives; it had been to his younger assistant, a middle-aged woman, that her mother's ladies had applied in secret when they could not stand to bear another child so soon after the last one. Apparently opinions were different here in Edoras-- or Brinweld had understood Lady Eambreth's need.

"I think Freca suspected, too," Lady Eambreth said, her eyes wide and her face pale. "Or he was just mad that I couldn't conceive a child. So-- he took his anger out on me." Her fingers were trembling very slightly. "But that was just more proof that I couldn't bear a child."

"Lady Eambreth," Lothiriel said gently, "if this distresses you you don't need to talk about it."

Her former attendant seemed to shrink back a little. "You disapprove of what I did."

"No," Lothiriel said firmly. "I meant exactly what I said. There is no need to worry about it with Freca gone."

Lady Eambreth relaxed, and nodded. "I know," she said. "Only-- sometimes I can't believe those days are over for good, and I wake up in the middle of the night, wondering how much longer my respite is going to last." She shuddered. "It helps, somehow, to talk about it. To compare what I have now with what I had then. But if you'd rather not hear--"

"I would not stop you from relieving yourself of pain," Lothiriel assured her. In the back of her mind, uneasiness was growing, and she resolved to talk to the king about guards for Lady Eambreth during Sumorende. If Freca should return, he might be missed in the great crush of people.

Lady Eambreth was staring into the dark amber tea. "He hated to see me washing my monthly rags," she said abruptly, her voice trembling, "because it meant another month that I hadn't conceived. It made him so angry that he'd hit me. So I started doing it out of his sight, but--" she shook her head. "He still knew. I think he might have suspected that I was taking something. I caught him going through my things and through my herb chest. But he never found it, because I hid it here in Meduseld." She ducked her head, and tears started to roll down her face.

Lothiriel moved, a little awkwardly, around the table to sit next to her. "Don't cry," she said, handing the other woman a handkerchief. "Please. Freca's gone, and the king will have him arrested if he ever comes near you again. You don't need to worry about him." She felt a stab of rage for the abusive, drunken tyrant who could make his victim cry even from hundreds of miles away. Lothiriel looked somewhat helplessly at Lady Eambreth. "It's alright," she said. "Please don't cry."

Lady Eambreth wiped her eyes. "I know," she sniffed. "I know." She wrung the small square of cloth in her hands and was silent for a moment. "I was so frightened at the end," she burst out suddenly, though her voice was little more than a whisper. "The lennis started to smell stale, and I wasn't sure if it would work anymore. And then I missed a monthly course, and I-- I was afraid I was carrying Freca's child. But it was just the stress..." She started to cry silently again.

Lothiriel wished she hadn't been so reluctant to discourage Lady Eambreth from talking, but the crying seemed to have an almost cathartic effect. "I'm sorry," Lady Eambreth said between sobs. "I didn't mean to burden you with this. I just..."

"It's alright," Lothiriel reassured her. "It's alright."

"It was the only brave thing I ever did," Lady Eambreth said a little while later when she had calmed down. "And I could do it because it wasn't for myself." She took a sip of her tea, and Lothiriel guessed by her face that she found it cold.

"More?" Lothiriel switched out the mug for a new one, filling it with fresh beverage from the kettle and adding the honey that the Rohirrim were so fond of in their tea. As she did so, the door to the solar opened, and Lady Celgwyn stepped in.

She looked surprised at seeing the two women there, and her eyes widened almost imperceptibly at the sight of tears on Lady Eambreth's face, but she curtsied. "Good afternoon, Your Highness, Lady Eambreth."

"Please," Lothiriel said, rising and gesturing to the table. "Won't you join us?"

Lady Celgwyn hesitated, then sat down with them. Lothiriel poured another mug of tea as they talked about the orphanage and Sumorende. The older woman's presence seemed to have a calming effect on Lady Eambreth, as Lothiriel had hoped it would, but after a few moments the latter lady stood and curtsied.

"Excuse me, please," she said. "I must get back to the orphanage. I don't want to leave Elltha and Framlyth alone with the children too long." Elltha and Framlyth were the two women hired to help Lady Eambreth take care of the orphans. "I will return your handkerchief when I see you next, Your Highness." The now-sodden article was crumpled in her left hand. "Good day."

Lothiriel and Lady Celgwyn watched her go; then the older woman turned to her queen with a look of inquiry. Lothiriel didn't need it explained to her. "She was talking about Freca," she said. "It seemed to help her, and I didn't want to discourage her, but then she started crying." She shook her head. "I couldn't comfort her."

Lady Celgwyn also shook her head. "You did right, Your Highness. These things are best talked out. It helps drain the memory of its poison."

Lothiriel nodded, gratified. "She is very brave," she said, thinking of what Lady Eambreth had just told her. Then she realized that that might not be public knowledge.

But Lady Celgwyn nodded. "Yes," she said, meeting Lothiriel's eye for a moment. They understood each other.

"Sumorende is going well," Lothiriel ventured, wondering why her senior attendant was paying her this unusual visit in the middle of the afternoon.

Lady Celgwyn inclined her head. "Yes, Your Highness, it is." She hesitated, then reached for a cloth bag by her feet. "The king..." she said, and then stopped.

"The king?" Lothiriel asked. "Is something wrong with him?" Her mind flashed back to the last time she had seen him, that morning. He had seemed fine, with no more cares than the usual weight of the kingdom on his shoulders.

Her senior attendant shook her head. "He asked me to help him-- you-- with something," she said at last. "I told him that it might not have the desired effect, but he said he did not want you wearing out your eyes and hands with sewing." As Lothiriel observed that Lady Celgwyn seemed very ill at ease, the lady was remembering that the king had said more-- a little more, and then stopped, but it had been enough to give the astute Lady Celgwyn an idea of the true reason for his request.

Eyes and hands with sewing? As Lady Celgwyn handed her the bag, Lothiriel belatedly realized what must be in it. She undid the drawstrings and looked inside. Yes; it was small clothes, neatly folded and stacked, enough to make up any infant's wardrobe.

"In Rohan, Your Highness, infants' clothes are passed from mother to daughter," said Lady Celgwyn, her voice a little hesitant. "And if a woman's mother is-- cannot help her, then other women may contribute. No one expects you to make everything on your own, Your Highness. That is-- you may want to, or you may object to clothing your child in things that are not new?"

Lothiriel shook her head. "Thank you," she said, blinking back sudden tears. "You are very kind."

"I did not mean to upset you, Your Highness." Lady Celgwyn sounded concerned.

Lothiriel shook her head again and looked up. "I am not upset," she said. "Just grateful. Whose-- are these yours?"

"Some of them, Your Highness," said Lady Celgwyn. "Some my daughters'. Some were given by the other women-- though I did not go about asking," she said. "In truth there ought to have been something you could have used, but with Queen Elfhild having died so long ago, and then Princess Theodwyn, I'm afraid it was all lost. Meduseld has been a male stronghold for a long time, Your Highness." She smiled. "Some of the people here for Sumorende, who have not been for months or years, speak of how nice it is to have a queen in Edoras once again."

"I will try not to let them down," Lothiriel murmured, touched. "Will you tell me who else contributed these, so I may thank them?"

"They do not want to be thanked, Your Highness," Lady Celgwyn said. "But I will tell them." She rose to her feet. "Please excuse me, for I must prepare for the feast. Will you be there?"

"Of course," Lothiriel said. "Good day, Lady Celgwyn."

"Good day, Your Highness."

-

The feast for the last night of Sumorende was spectacular. The Great Hall stood dark and empty; instead, everyone, including the king and queen, ate in the streets. Nor were the monarchs allowed to contribute anything to the feast. Instead they were fed by their subjects. Lothiriel was selfishly glad the king was so well-liked by his people; greedy or despotic rulers had often found themselves dining on inedible portions on this night.

Lothiriel smiled with delight as they sat at a long table on a low dais, and watched the streets thronged with people who came to watch their monarchs and to feast themselves. That is, she was delighted to see the people so merry, though less delighted to be under observation.

A young woman with an astounding waterfall of golden hair carried heavy dishes to place in front of Lothiriel and her near neighbors, some of the nobility of Edoras. Lothiriel caught her eye and thanked her, smiling, and the girl blushed brilliant scarlet before bobbing a curtsy.

After the food, which was delicious-- she was learning to appreciate food all over again now that her morning sickness was passing away-- the tables were cleared away and there was dancing, much as there had been on the first night. But the merriment was less raucous, for she did not see alcohol anywhere.

"No one drinks on the last night of Sumorende," the king explained to her when she asked. "At least not in public. No one wishes to mar the memory, and more than that it's dangerous with the fires later tonight." That night the piles of leaves, some of which were higher than a tall man's head, would be lit into blazing bonfires, and attended until nearly dawn; when they had burned down to embers, daring couples or singles would leap across them hand-in-hand for good luck and prosperity in the coming year.

She danced with the king, a fast, whirling dance that made her red skirts swirl around her and left her breathless, but she shook her head when he asked if she wanted to sit down. Next a young man of Marshal Elfhelm's eored, blushing brightly and encouraged by the loud calls of his fellow riders, bowed and solicited her hand for the next dance. She would not refuse him, but stifled several winces as his feet, more used to stirrups than fancy patterns, found hers often. But from the approving grins on the riders' faces, she had made the right decision.

When the dancing had ended, she and the king lit the first bonfire together, as was traditional, and she leapt back as the pile of dry leaves ignited faster than she would have thought possible. The king steadied her, frowning thoughtfully at the blaze. "Sometimes they pour alcohol into the piles to make them burn better," he said, "but I didn't smell it that time."

The heat of the fires kept away the chill of the late autumn night, and Lothiriel talked with her ladies, and some of the riders, through the early morning hours, in better spirits than she had been in a long time. Her eyes burned with smoke and fatigue, but she did not retire. This was one tradition that Dol Amroth did not have.

No one suggested that the monarchs leap over the fire together, for which she was thankful, and not just because of the exertion. There was a minor bit of panic when one lady's trailing skirts caught fire as she didn't leap quite quickly enough over the coals, but a quick-thinking rider grabbed her around the waist, lifted her up, and set her down in a rain barrel. When the clouds of steam cleared, the young woman was laughing, obviously unharmed, and perhaps thinking that she would be jumping over the fires again that morning-- and not alone.

Lothiriel felt a twinge of sadness as she watched. But she forced it aside and turned back to her conversation with Lady Celgwyn.

When the sun rose, most of the revelers finally gave up their night watches, stumbling back to their homes or wherever they had found lodging. Lothiriel realized that the bottom of her skirts were stained with mud and cinders, and her feet were very sore. Perhaps she'd soak them in the washtub when she got back... or, no, she would just sleep. The day after Sumorende was a holiday as well, she had learned, and apparently for good reason. No one would wake again before midmorning.

Lothiriel hesitated when she and the king returned to their rooms. She took her shawl off her shoulders and laid it over a chair, then slipped her shoes off. "My lord," she said.

The king turned quickly. "Yes?"

"Lady Celgwyn said--" she hesitated again.

The king-- Eomer-- misinterpreted her silence. "I did not mean to offend you with what I did," he said quietly. "I meant only to help."

Lothiriel shook her head. "I thank you for it," she said. "It was kindly done, and will save me much-- trouble. Much care." Much heartache. "I thank you for noticing, and for taking the trouble to arrange it."

"You are welcome, my lady," Eomer told her, and hesitated. "I only want you to be happy here."

"I will be happy," she told him, and did not think she was lying, though her heart ached. "Thank you."


	14. Chapter 14

Lothiriel woke shivering. The dull grey of the sky outside disguised the advancement of the day, but the king was gone and the fire, necessary now that the weather was cooler, was burning low. He would have added wood to it before he left, which meant she'd slept quite late.

She sat up and pulled the covers tightly around her. She'd been fatigued lately, unable to feel rested even after a full night's sleep. This morning she felt a little better, probably because she'd slept so long. But still, the grey day outside made her want to curl up under the covers and go back to sleep.

Instead she stood up, exhaling as her feet met the icy cold of the stone floor. Her slippers were a little warmer. Quickly she hurried into the privy room and let water run into the heating basin, crouching awkwardly near the copper vessel to enjoy the warmth of the fire under it. But her growing stomach made this position uncomfortable, so instead she returned to the bedchamber, retrieved the thick covers, and huddled in them until the water was warmed.

She dressed quickly, realizing that her damp hair would probably chill her until it dried, and with swift fingers braided it into a coronet, disposing of the rest in a bun at the nape of her neck. Then she hunted out her shoes, banked the fire, and slipped out of the door.

The women were already gathered in the antechamber, and the atmosphere was cool in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature. The unusual quiet, combined with the many glances towards Lady Robrym, left her with no doubts as to the reason. Still, Lothiriel smiled and greeted her ladies cheerfully, and received murmurs of "Good morning" in return.

The blanket-making was tedious in a way it had not been for months. They were doing something productive, and useful; her chilly awakening had proved that. Yet Lothiriel felt herself seized with an unusual restlessness. She wanted to go out and walk, and visit the orphanage, and _do_ something besides sit for hours, patiently weaving or cutting strips of cloth or stitching piece-blankets together.

Some of the ladies shifting uncomfortably in their seats drew her attention back to the present. Lady Robrym was murmuring-- in Rohirric-- "someone really ought to let our queen know that it's not uncommon for men to stray during their wives' pregnancies. Poor thing," she added with unconvincing sympathy, and Lothiriel wondered with uncharacteristic sardonicism if the 'poor thing' referred to the wives or the men. "I would so hate for her to be shocked."

Lothiriel sighed inwardly. Did Lady Robrym really think she knew nothing whatsoever of the language of her new home? Even Morwen of Lossarnach had spoken Rohirric fluently; she'd just chosen not to. Lady Celgwyn opened her mouth, but Lothiriel cut her off. "Lady Robrym," she said in Rohirric, and the lady in question looked up quickly. A mottled flush spread across her face as she realized her error. "Are you accusing the king of breaking his vows?"

"Of course not, Your Highness," Lady Robrym murmured-- in Westron. The faces around her reflected a distinct lack of sympathy.

"Good," said Lothiriel. "For I would hate for anyone to get the impression that you were impugning the honor of your sovereign." The blush on Lady Robrym's face deepened, and her mouth compressed into a thin line; she bent her eyes downward and said nothing for the rest of the morning.

Lothiriel felt no triumph, only weariness. Did Lady Robrym have absolutely no sense of comportment, that she attacked her queen through her king? By implying that he was an adulterer, no less? Lothiriel knew how ridiculous that charge was, and it truly was insulting to the king's honor-- to imply that the man who had fulfilled his oaths in blood on the fields of Pelennor could not, or would not, be faithful to his wife?

Less stilted conversation sprang up to replace Lady Robrym's slander, but Lothiriel took no part. Finally, about midmorning, she stood up. "Excuse me, please," she said. "I am going to ask Hergyth if we might arrange to borrow any more giant looms." It was a pretext, but she could not tolerate that chamber any longer.

She found the lady steward overseeing the baking of bread in the large kitchens, and received the expected negative answer. But Hergyth did suggest that if they were in need of more material, some might be found in a certain small storage closet. Lothiriel thanked her and went to check, extending her errand to avoid returning to the antechamber.

The closet was not only small but dark, and Lothiriel almost tripped over the woman huddled at the base of one of the shelves. She threw open the shutters to let in a little grey light. "Lady Eambreth!" Lothiriel said, startled. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Lady Eambreth choked out. In the dim light Lothiriel could see that she was crying. "I... thought no one would come here, I did not know..."

Lothiriel knelt awkwardly beside her. "What is wrong?" she asked gently.

Lady Eambreth shook her head. "Nothing that can be fixed," she said despairingly. "I was just came here to be foolish for a little while. That's all." She smiled weakly, but Lothiriel was not deceived.

"Has Freca come back?" Lothiriel's gut clenched.

But Lady Eambreth shook her head. "No, Your Highness."

"Is there trouble at the orphanage?"

"No, Your Highness," Lady Eambreth whispered miserably.

"Then what is wrong?"

Lady Eambreth just shook her head again, and tears flowed silently down her face. "I am foolish, and… and shameful. That is all," she stammered, and buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook violently.

Lothiriel was now thoroughly alarmed. "Lady Eambreth, will you not at least let me share in your trouble?"

"You can't," her former attendant said shudderingly. "Please, just go. It cannot be good for you to sit here like this."

"Then that must only be greater inducement for you," Lothiriel said firmly, "for I will not go until you tell me what is wrong." She twisted awkwardly and pulled a blanket from the shelf behind them, wrapped it lightly around Lady Eambreth's shoulders, and then got one for herself. The stone room was chilly.

Lady Eambreth shook her head despairingly, and suddenly started to cry again with such violence that Lothiriel was afraid she would make herself sick. She felt guilty about pressing Lady Eambreth to tell, but she could not leave her now. So she knelt by her side, murmuring soothingly, until her tears ran their natural course.

Lady Eambreth brushed a lock of copper hair that had come loose from its bun out of her face. "I… I have fallen in love," she whispered at last, hiding her face.

Lothiriel was again startled; this was _not_ what she had expected. "With who?" she asked.

"A guard… one of the king's men," Lady Eambreth sniffled. "His name is Leofwine." She smiled tenderly for a moment, and then her happiness vanished.

"And does he… return your favor?"

Lady Eambreth ducked her head. "I… he likes me, and I think he would love me…" she blushed. "But I keep him at a distance. He thinks I don't—care." Her voice cracked on the last word.

"Then what is wrong?" Lothiriel asked gently. "To love, and be loved in return, is one of the greatest things in this world." As she spoke, she was aware of an aching emptiness in her heart, but she pushed it aside. This was not Lady Eambreth's problem.

Lady Eambreth looked up again, her expression shocked. "Your Highness, I am married!" she said with astonishment. "To even entertain such thoughts makes me—" her face crumpled into a mask of misery—"shameful, and low, and…" her voice dissolved into silent tears again. "He must never know," she finally whispered. "But I could not help being upset. So I came here, where I thought no one would see me." She started to shrug the blanket off of her shoulders, and smiled wanly. "I can go on and be all right now," she said. "I just needed… needed to cry a little." But her forlorn eyes belied her.

_Freca, you shall not steal any more of your _wife's _happiness_, Lothiriel thought angrily. "He broke his wedding vows in spirit, if not in letter, when he hurt you," she said. "And then when he left you. Surely you are not bound to an absent, abusive husband!"

"He left at your order," Lady Eambreth said. "And I… left him first."

"I did not order him to leave. I ordered him to respect your wishes or leave. It was his choice to make," Lothiriel said. "And his choice indicates that he is not worthy of being your husband." She shook her head, feeling helpless. "In Gondor you would be considered no longer bound. I do not know what the custom in Rohan is."

Lady Eambreth shook her head miserably. "I never had the courage to ask."

"Then I will ask," Lothiriel said. "I will ask the king. He is a just man; he will do what is right." Some of the wretchedness started to leave Lady Eambreth's face. "It will be all right," Lothiriel told her.

Lady Eambreth ducked her head. "I never thought I would trust a man again," she whispered after a moment, a shy smile starting to spread across her face, "but…"

"Tell me about Leofwine," Lothiriel prompted when she did not continue.

The smile blossomed into radiance. "He is… he is kind, and gentle, and he likes children," here she laughed a little. "He often comes to the orphanage to see them, and…" she blushed. "To see me. And they like them. He plays with them." She looked up at Lothiriel. "You might have seen him at Sumorende, the first night. He was there with some of the ladies and I." In her mind's eye Lothiriel recalled a slender young man leaning against a fence, watching the gathered ladies—but especially Lady Eambreth, she realized now—with warmth. Lady Eambreth's blush deepened. "He says… I am beautiful. I have never had a man say that to me before." She brushed her hair back from her face again. "We are the same age, and he makes me laugh. And he makes the children laugh. I… I think I had almost forgotten how, before. And…" her smile vanished. "Giving him up, just when I am beginning to live again, hurts so much," she whispered.

"Lady Eambreth, if I have the power to do anything about it, you will not have to give him up," Lothiriel said firmly. "You deserve happiness. And every woman deserves to marry for love."

"But you did not, Your Highness," Lady Eambreth pointed out. Then her eyes widened. "I am sorry, I am too bold, I did not mean…"

Lothiriel dismissed the apology with a shake of her head. "No," she said after a moment. "No, I did."

- - -

Lothiriel watched the king write from her seat on the window ledge. Soon it would be too cold there and she would have to find another spot for the evenings. Maybe the chair by the fire, but it was most comfortable on her stomach to sit against something with her legs tucked off to the side…

She let her thoughts drift, her eyes still focused on the man who was her husband. It was such an odd marriage they had, composed of acquaintanceship and perhaps friendship. She wasn't sure about that last yet. Her parents and her brothers had all married those they loved, as had her cousin Faramir. Even King Elessar had married his beloved. She had not, and she had had no idea what to do. But they had come to a sort of truce—no, they were not warring parties. An unspoken arrangement, by which they could be almost comfortable with each other. She was grateful for that, not only because she was carrying Eomer's child, but for herself. In the early days of her marriage she had felt revulsion at the thought of the form and function of a marriage with none of its love. But the king had not asked that of her, and she was glad, for she could not have given it to him. He was content to let her be, and she had never thought of being other than content to let him be.

"Do the Rohirrim ever dissolve marriages?" she asked suddenly.

The king turned around, and she saw surprise on his face, but it was quickly gone. "Are you thinking of Lady Eambreth?"

Lothiriel nodded.

"It could be done," he said after several minutes of thought, during which she waited with bated breath. "Some would be upset, but it is not unheard of. And she deserves better."

"She does," Lothiriel agreed.

The king looked over at her. "Is this what she wants, or are you merely curious?"  
"I think… she would want it if she knew it were possible," Lothiriel said honestly. "I know she would. We… spoke about it."

"Is she… quite certain that she is not with child?"

"She is," Lothiriel affirmed. "Would that bind her to Freca?"

"It would make it more difficult." He paused. "I will talk to her, and then make a pronouncement—"

"No," Lothiriel said quickly, concern for her friend making her bold. The king looked at her, inviting her to continue. "That is… surely some people must know but is there a way to do it that would not make her an object of scrutiny, again?"

He nodded. "There is. And you are right. That would be better."

Lothiriel felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Good," she murmured. "She has been bound to him too long."

The king looked troubled. "I should not have allowed such a man to continue as my rider, especially not if his abuse was common knowledge."

Lothiriel harbored the same guilt. "I should have noticed sooner," she agreed quietly. But she had been preoccupied with her own misery, and as a result one under her care had continued to suffer far greater misery. Whatever Lady Eambreth said about being grateful, Lothiriel owed it to her to look after her happiness; she had already failed her once.

Soon her weariness caught up with her, and she moved to the dressing room to begin her preparations for sleep. "Would you like me to move?" the king asked when she came out.

Lothiriel shook her head as she pulled the covers around her. "Only if you would like to." The light of the candles on the desk did not disturb her, nor did the faint scratching of the king's pen. She wondered drowsily how much work he had yet to do; he had been up longer than her, and working at more demanding tasks. He had to be tired as well, yet she had never heard him complain. "Good night," she murmured.

The sound of the pen stopped for a moment. "Good night."


	15. Chapter 15

**Big bold author's warning: This chapter contains profanity and other offensive language, as well as violence.**

A/N 2: I think this is the longest chapter yet; parts of it were very hard to write. I hope I got it right!

- - -

Lothiriel stared out the southern window, barely seeing the city below as the roofs gleamed golden in the afternoon sun. A frown creased her face, and she was deep in thought.

She'd just come from the orphanage. It now held sixty-three children, the youngest two weeks old, the oldest seventeen years. Elltha had protested this last charge, saying the girl was old enough to make her own way in the world; and technically, she was. But she had nowhere to go, and no prospects, and she was just as much of an orphan as any of the others. So she stayed.

There were others nearly as old, sixteen-year-old Isencaf from the Westfold who Lady Eambreth said was able to be in three places, watching younger children and hauling bags and helping the blacksmith next door; and Anfrum, who had a child of her own. She'd been betrothed to the boy who had fathered her child, her own childhood sweetheart, and then a stray band of orcs had killed him and devastated much of their village. So much had Lady Eambreth gotten out of her, she'd told Lothiriel, though the girl had recited it in a flat, dull monotone, as if she were telling someone else's story.

So Lady Eambreth had given the two-week-old to Anfrum to nurse along with her own son, and the unnamed infant no longer looked like skin and bones, and Anfrum's eyes had lost a little of their haunted look. Lady Eambreth had also said that Anfrum had started to show an interest in taking care of the little one, changing its clothes, and helping to bathe it when she bathed her own son; and her actions were a little more lively, and a little less mechanical. These children had been through so much; they needed all the love they could get, even if it came from an unorthodox family structure.

_Children?_ she thought. She was only twenty-two; some of her ladies-in-waiting in Dol Amroth had been younger than some of the orphans. But here, the gulf of experience and position separated her from those barely five and six years her junior. _I'm too young for this_, she thought tiredly. _I'm too young for all of this. _She was queen, not by accident certainly, but not by qualification either. Nothing in her upbringing had quite prepared her for this. And sometimes, like now, she just wanted to lay down all her cares and responsibilities and run along the beach, kicking sand up with her heels and ducking away from the waves, laughing, like a child. Except there were no beaches in Rohan. And she could not run now.

She leaned her forehead against the cool stone. This panic would pass, she knew, and she would go on being calm and responsible. She would ask one of the other women, in private, about motherhood; most of them had had children at her age or younger. And even though she sometimes felt like she had to be only playing at it, with her lack of experience, Lothiriel knew the orphanage was no experiment; she would continue doing the best for it she could.

She still had not figured out a way to make the orphanage self-sufficient. Some of the children, when they got old enough, could serve apprenticeships while staying at the orphanage, and perhaps their masters could be persuaded to donate the amount of supplies the child would have used had he been living on site with his master; but that would at most support them.

It wouldn't be a problem for several more months, not at the current cost rates, anyway; yet more children were arriving constantly, and Faramir had written to her about a man, a scholar, a veteran of the Ring War, whom he was sending north as a tutor. He, too, would have to be paid.

Lothiriel sighed. She still had not told Lady Eambreth. She needed to, she knew; yet she wanted to be able to present a solution at the same time, so that she would be doing something other than pulling the rug out from under Lady Eambreth's feet, and that of the children. _Why didn't I think of this before I started?_ Lothiriel thought, irritated with herself. _I must find some way to do this_.

The solar door opened, and she twisted around to see a chambermaid, who curtsied. "Hergyth sent me to ask what you want us to do with the king's foreign guests until he is done with Council, Your Highness. Or if you think we should interrupt it?"

"Guests?" Lothiriel said.

- - -

Eomer felt old as he left the Council chamber and walked aimlessly through the halls of Meduseld. He felt old, and meetings such as that one never helped.

He seemed to spend so much time in that room, with the long stone table in the center, and the windows on either end. Its length and width were intimately familiar to him after accumulated hours, days, of pacing; he knew the chamber practically better than his bedchamber. Not surprising, really, considering he'd inherited both at the same time.

Sometimes, in the morning, he would stare at the stone walls, and it would seem like he had never left from the day before, and the intervening hours were only a dream from which he had awakened. He wondered sometimes if any of the councilors felt that way; perhaps he would ask Elfhelm. And perhaps not. He did not need to add to Elfhelm's burdens by making him think his king was losing his mind.

Eomer rubbed his hands over his face, trying to loosen some of the tension. The kingship could consume a man, he realized. How had Theoden managed? Or had the demanding burdens of ruling wore him down and made him vulnerable to the White Wizard's spells? Eomer's fists clenched unconsciously at his side at the memories, until he realized what he was doing and forced himself to relax.

He had not known what it was to be king, until he had been forced to learn. He had not known what it was to wake in the night with the oppressive weight of the cares of a country stifling his breath. And yet he would not have forsaken it, even if he could. It was his duty, and more than that, it was his sacred obligation, and his love. He was bound to Rohan, and Rohan to him, inextricably. And Eomer would not have it any other way. But he would not, could not, let it use him up; and if the child Lothiriel was carrying was a son, he would teach him the same.

Today he had more specific worries. Alarming reports came from the north of bands of stray orcs. Their numbers were nothing the Riders there could not deal with, but-- were they truly stray? Or had a significant portion of the foul creatures somehow survived the War of the Ring? The halls of Moria, Eomer knew, had teemed with the beasts; less certain was whether the destruction of the Ring had also somehow destroyed them.

He'd wanted to ride north at once, remembering with bitter agony the blackened wastelands that the orcs had created over so much of Rohan. What could they do unchecked until spring? But it was too late in the year; they risked being cut off from Edoras and reinforcements if they rode north now. Nor was there time to muster a sufficient number of men. And Eomer remembered well how his father had died.

As Elfhelm had reminded him, these were not the giant Uruk-hai of Saruman, cunning and strong. These were only-- _only_-- the smaller, disorganized beasts, who could not move in sunlight. And they were under control. But Eomer still hated, loathed, the thought of any of them remaining in Rohan. His country, the country he was sworn to protect; the country he loved. His veins burned with fury at the thought of their foul feet on the fair green plains.

Eomer looked up and realized that his wanderings had taken him near the Great Hall. He had been inside too long today, he thought; the pile of papers on his desk in his chambers could wait. Surely there had to be something he could do that would take him out of Meduseld-- yes. Eomer smiled. There was a master carpenter he needed to confer with, about the progress of a very special project.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside, intending just to pass through. The Great Hall usually had some people or other in it at any time of day, and today was no exception. Maids hurried in and out, carrying food or cleaning things; a group of off-duty guards played a noisy game of bones in the corner. In the other corner several children chased a ball back and forth. He smiled. Several of his council members-- the older ones-- had complained about the lack of decorum in the Great Hall, their protests verging on reproach, but Eomer remembered too well the silent, tomb-like room in which the wizened Theoden King had sat. This would not be that room.

He noticed two travelers sitting at the end of one of the long tables, a variety of food spread before them. The one scarcely touched any of it, but the other drank deeply from a deep mug of ale before returning his attentions to what looked like roast pork. Lothiriel was sitting with them, and she was laughing.

A wide smile spread across Eomer's face. "Legolas!" he called. "Gimli!" He paced quickly across the stone to greet his friends. "You did not tell me you were coming!"

"Didn't want to give you time to hide the ale, lad," the dwarf rumbled, climbing to his feet and turning around.

His elfin companion stood with more fluid grace. "Rohan looks prosperous, Eomer," he said. "You have done well by it."

Eomer looked at Legolas penetratingly. "Thank you, my friend," he said sincerely, knowing the elf would not lie.

Lothiriel also got to her feet, the smile not yet gone from her face. "I shall see you at supper. My lords." She curtsied and turned away, graceful despite her advancing pregnancy.

Eomer watched her as she made her away across the Great Hall. "You must tell me what you did," he said quietly. "I have never heard her laugh before."

Legolas gave him a keen look. "She is not so unhappy now as she was at her wedding," he observed. "You have... helped her."

"She has helped me," Eomer said, quietly, after a moment.

Gimli stuck an unlit pipe between his teeth. "Why'd she agree to marry you then, lad, if she was so miserable?" He looked up at Eomer.

Eomer was still watching the direction in which his wife had left. "I do not know," he said at last, thoughtfully. "I... have never asked."

There was a short silence. Then Gimli said, "And is it to be a boy or a girl?"

"How could I know?" Eomer asked, surprised. "I am neither an elf nor a wizard to be foresighted. Perhaps you should ask Legolas." The elf only laughed.

Gimli put down his pipe and picked up his ale mug. "Oh, dwarves have ways, lad." He settled back down and started to explain, and before long Eomer was laughing as hard as Lothiriel had been.

- - -

Lothiriel unbraided her hair and combed it section by section, starting from the bottom. The Great Hall had been merry that night, with not only the arrival of Legolas Greenleaf and Gimli son of Gloin, but also the return for the winter of the last eored based in Edoras. Now the snows could come at will; there would be no stranded soldiers this winter. She knew the Rohirrim all remembered the valiant and fatal winter campaign of Helm Hammerhand.

"Lothiriel," the king said, and she turned, comb in hand. He was watching the fire, and then looked up and met her eyes. "May I ask you something?"

She frowned a little in puzzlement. "Yes," she said, and stopped herself from adding, _Of course_. He had to know that she would not mind a simple question, which meant it was more than that.

He hesitated. "Why did you agree to marry me?"

Surprised, Lothiriel sank down onto the window ledge, fingers curling absent-mindedly around the wooden handle of the comb. "My father," she said at last.

"Your father?" She could hear the undercurrent in Eomer's voice, and realized what he must be thinking.

"He did not make me," she explained. "He wanted me to accept, but if I had truly refused... I think he would have understood." She rubbed her thumb over the teeth of the comb. "After the Pelennor Fields and the Black Gate, and especially after Amrothos was hurt, he wanted no more war. And he told me... that if I accepted your... offer, it would bind the ties between Rohan and Gondor. It would help ensure peace. And his eyes..." she shook her head, and turned away a little. "It was as if-- he was pleading, silently." This last was quiet.

After a moment Lothiriel continued. This was difficult to explain, and she felt self-conscious. She was staring into space now, but her eyes were focused inside. "I thought it would be no bad thing, to bring peace. It would be more good than I would ever accomplish any other way." She hesitated again. But the king had asked, and he deserved her honesty. "I knew I should have to marry eventually--" her voice dipped a little "-- and I knew you were an honorable man, and a good one."

There was a pause; Lothiriel looked at the wall, not quite seeing it. "You-- accepted my suit because I was an honorable man?" Eomer's voice was tinged with anger, and she looked up quickly.

"Yes," she said quietly. "I am sorry if I have offended you. But I would not lie to you."

He shook his head. "I am-- not offended," he said. "Your reasons were noble. I just regret that you had... so little choice. So few choices."

She did not think she had said quite what she meant to say, still. So many of her countrymen had died on the battlefields, had made sacrifices for good. Who was she to reject the chance to likewise do good? And what else had there been for her to do? The kingdom of Rohan had needed a queen, and the king a wife and heir; it was one of the few roles she could fill. Lothiriel remembered the resigned tinge of weariness with which she had replied to the king's letter, accepting his offer of marriage; remembered the taste of despair, of sadness and greyness, that had haunted her for a while, in the days of her betrothal. _Is there no more than this?_ she had thought. _Will there be no more than this? Will my life be to fulfill my duty?_

But duty was no longer the forbidding thing it had once seemed. Duty was starting the orphanage, and looking after Lady Eambreth, and bearing the child she was carrying. But those were not just duty; they were personal honor, and duty to the common good, both of which approached nearer to her heart than did duty to her country. And they were pleasure, even the last one, for it would stop the Rohirrim from worrying about what would happen if their king died without an heir.

_But my, our, child will not be consumed by duty_, she vowed. _I will not let him. He shall know more. _

- - -

It was twilight, the next day, and Meduseld was unusually quiet. The king can gone out at daybreak with Legolas and Gimli, and had yet to return; in his absence, supper had been early. Following it, those people who lived in Edoras below had taken themselves away, and some of the servants had gone with them to watch a set of impromptu horse races.

Lothiriel's slippers barely made a sound as she walked slowly through the corridors. The night was chilly, and she was looking for another blanket or two. The storeroom nearest the royal chambers was empty of them, and she did not know where else to look first; perhaps they were on the lower level, or in the room where she had surprised Lady Eambreth not long ago.

A noise from the end of the hallway, beyond the tapestry which led to the Great Hall, caught her ears: a woman's cry, and something that sounded too much like flesh striking flesh. She frowned, and quickened her steps. "What is--" Lothiriel started to say, as she pulled aside the tapestry, but then she stopped. Standing in the middle of the Great Hall, trapped against one of the long tables, was Lady Eambreth. And standing over her, menacingly, interrupted in the process of delivering another blow, was a man she had only seen once, but instantly recognized. _Freca_.

"Guards!" Lothiriel called. "GUARDS!" There had to be someone, someone within earshot, surely! The Rohirrim would not have relaxed their wartime vigilance so quickly. "King's men!"

Lady Eambreth tried to break away from her former husband, but he grabbed her right wrist in a rough grip and yanked her back to him. "You're not going anywhere, bitch," he snarled. "You'll not get away from me so easily!"

"Guards!" Lothiriel shouted again, desperately, and finally from the other entrances to the Great Hall came the sound of many footsteps. Armed men, part of the king's guard, rushed into the hall, hands on their swords, hesitated in confusion a moment when they saw that their queen was not in danger-- and then someone recognized Freca.

But the man shifted his hold to his wife's throat, almost encircling it with one hand. "Stop," he growled. "Or I snap her neck!"

The men looked to their captain-- no, it was the second-- for instruction. Reluctantly he waved them to stay where they were. But every sword in the room was now drawn.

"You were banished," Lothiriel said, her voice cold enough to mask the sick feeling within her. "Why did you return?"

Freca scowled. "I heard that my _lady_ wife was planning to cuckold me, the whore!" His hand tightened around Lady Eambreth's throat.

"I am not your wife," she gasped out. "The king--"

Freca used jerked her violently into silence. "The king had no right!" he said. "It's none of his bloody business, damn him! You're mine, and mine alone, you trollop, and you'd better start acting like it!"

"The king had every right!" Lothiriel said furiously. "He is your sovereign, and furthermore, you broke your wedding vows when you beat your wife!"

"That's my business, you Gondorian bitch!" Freca yelled, and the king's men surged forward with angry cries, only to be checked again by their captain-second. "You had no right to come here either and take our throne, and foist half-foreign brats off on us-- if they even have any of our blood at all!" At this Lady Eambreth drove her foot down into the side of Freca's, and he cursed and struck her in the head. _No, Lady Eambreth!_ Lothiriel thought desperately. _Don't! I'm not worth that_.

"You'll pay for that," Freca snarled. His hand tightened again around her throat. "Now you'll come with me and you'll relearn proper submission, you slut, or I'll beat it into you!" He shook Lady Eambreth hard. "But first we'll pay a visit to that-- that _bastard_, and I'll teach him to lay hands on my wife!"

In her left hand Lady Eambreth clutched a skin of liquid, held this whole time; now she twisted and flung it into Freca's face. He howled in pain, swore, and let go of her; from the sharp smell, it was lye.

Lady Eambreth bolted away. But after a few steps her outstretched foot caught one corner of the end of the table, and she stumbled, tangled in her skirts, and fell. Freca lunged for her, both hands outstretched to grab her neck, his face dark with rage.

The men around the edges of the chamber surged forward again, but they were too far away; they would be too late.

On the table beside the throne was Eomer's great hunting bow, brought out to show Legolas, and beside it a quiver of arrows. Time seemed to dilate as Lothiriel grabbed the weapon, nocked an arrow to it, and shot.

Several things happened in quick succession; the doors at the other end of the Great Hall flew open right before she loosed the arrow. Another group of men surged into the Hall from the other entrances. And then the flying missile and lunging man intersected, and the bolt buried itself in his shoulder to emerge from the back of his tunic.

Prince Imrahil's Master of the Hunt had taught her well. Even as Lothiriel stood horrified at the blood spurting onto the stones, her hands coolly reloaded the bow of their own will and aimed the arrow again at Freca. She could not fully draw the stiff bow, but the force she could use had already proved sufficient. From the other end of the room another arrow was trained at the wounded man, and a throwing axe held at the ready.

There was a second of silence. Then the king stepped forward from the great northern doors. "Would somebody please explain to me why with a roomful of guards, my _wife_ was forced to shoot this intruder?" His voice was quiet, but still carried through the silent chamber; and only one unacquainted with the king of Rohan would have mistaken its evenness for calm.

Men of both groups of guards, frozen for a second with everyone else, reached Freca and surrounded him. Lothiriel now recognized, with a detached part of her mind, the latecomers as the rest of the king's escort, who would have gone with him that day. Her hands trembled as she lowered the bow; she managed to return the arrow to its quiver, but her arms had turned to jelly and she could not unstring the massive weapon.

The knot around Freca sorted itself out as his hands were roughly bound. Lothiriel stared at him. The arrow had not penetrated his chest; it was high enough and far enough to the right that it could easily be treated. She was glad that her hands had not betrayed her; she had not been aiming to kill.

The last of the king's escort made it through the doors into the Great Hall. "Eambreth!" Leofwine called, his face pale with fear at the sight of her laying on the stone floor, her skirts spattered with blood, for she had not moved from where she had fallen. He rushed to her side, all else forgotten in his panic.

Lothiriel watched anxiously as he helped her to sit up. She did not seem seriously hurt, and she responded to his low-voiced inquiries with a shake of her head. Gently he touched the marks on her neck, visible even in the dim light, and she winced. Leofwine put his arm around her and helped her up to the bench by the table. As he did so, the restrained Freca growled like an animal and tried to lunge forward. Leofwine's arm tightened protectively around Lady Eambreth, but her former husband was surrounded by strong men, and as he thrashed, one of them struck him over the head with the pommel of his sword. Freca slumped to the ground.

The king was talking with his captain-second, his voice indistinct but cold with anger and his gestures short and sharp. Lothiriel's legs would no longer support her, and she sank down on the edge of the throne, too shaky to worry about the propriety.

"Lady Lothiriel." She looked up to see Prince Legolas at her side, his face serious with concern. Gimli stood at his other side, throwing axe returned to his belt. "Are you all right?"

She took a deep breath, then another. Knowing that Freca would live, the sight of the blood no longer bothered her, but the smell did. "Yes," she said. "Thank you." At a signal from their captain, the men surrounding Freca hoisted him like a sack of grain and hauled him off.

The king came up the three low steps to her. "Lothiriel, are you all right?" His eyes were intent on her face.

"Yes," she said again, and tried to smile to reassure him. "What... will happen to him?"

"He will be held prisoner," the king said grimly. "And then I will have to pass judgment on him." He still watched her carefully. "I am sorry you had to do such a thing, my lady."

Lothiriel shook her head. "I am glad it did not turn out worse," she murmured, remembering too clearly Freca's hand wrapped around Lady Eambreth's neck. "How did he get in?"

Eomer's face darkened again. "I do not know."

Lothiriel closed her eyes for a moment, nodded tiredly, and tried to stand. She stumbled, and the king took her arm to support her. "I will have business here," he told her, "but I will take you back to our rooms, if you like."

She nodded again, knowing she could not walk alone. "Please," she said. "Wait-- Lady Eambreth." The lady was still sitting on the wooden bench, Leofwine beside her, but as Lothiriel watched, he helped Lady Eambreth to her feet, and they started for the doors-- going back to the orphanage, she hoped. Being around the children might do Lady Eambreth good.

"My lords," Lothiriel said, nodding to Legolas and Gimli. They bowed in return, and then the king helped her walk back to the tapestry, and out of the Great Hall.

It was a short distance, but a slow journey; her mind was clear, but her body would not stop trembling, from nerves and the aftereffects of fear. Finally they reached the royal quarters, and Lothiriel sank into the chair before the fire. "I will send a maid for you," the king said, looking down at her with concern. "You should not be alone."

Lothiriel shook her head. "No, please." She attempted to smile. "I will be all right. I-- would rather not have to explain to anyone else what happened."

He nodded in acceptance. "I would stay with you, but I must speak to the captain and his second. I will be back as soon as I can." He started to go, but paused at the doorway and looked back. "Do not let the blood dismay you, my lady," he said quietly. "It was a good thing you did."

"I know," she said. "I-- will remember that."

When the king had gone, Lothiriel realized that his words were true; the chamber was very quiet, and very empty. She watched the fire for a time, and finally went to bed, reflecting as she did so that she had never gotten the blanket. But she was still awake when the king returned, and she did not sleep until after midnight.


	16. Chapter 16

Eight months pregnant, Lothiriel could no longer bend to weave at the giant looms, so instead she took over the task of cutting the old clothes into strips. It was steady, easy work and it allowed her time to think.

Or it would have allowed her time to think had her surroundings also allowed it. The ladies chattered back and forth happily and with excitement about a variety of things-- the weather, the coming winter, the various children that had been born recently, the comings and goings of travelers now that vigorous trade had been reestablished both with both Gondor and the north. The quick changes of topic confused her, and she stopped trying to keep up, comprehending only brief snatches of conversation here and there.

Lothiriel was tired. She'd much rather have been in the bedchamber sleeping, but she could not. Queens could not be slothful, not even pregnant queens. The cold weather made it hard for her to sleep at night, even with extra blankets, and her growing child was sapping her strength. It took her much longer to get places now, and she was often short of breath. On days when she spent a lot of her time standing, her back would ache when she went to bed.

She was beginning to be anxious for her child to be born-- no, that wasn't right. She knew that carrying him, or her, in her body was just the beginning, and she was frightened at the daunting prospect of raising a child. And she was not looking forward to the ordeal of labor, either; when her thoughts lingered on it too long, she would push it aside to the corner of her mind to avoid the gut-clenching bite of fear.

But it was fear, not terror. She knew women went through childbirth every day and survived it; she was just not looking forward to the pain and uncertainty. It was like the time she had been running barefoot on the beach, she realized, and had cut her foot on a piece of driftwood. The wound had festered and swollen for three days until the palace physician had declared it would have to be lanced.

She'd been very young-- she had to have been, to have been running barefoot on the beach. Perhaps five. She'd protested and cried for a little, but to no avail, and then she'd resigned herself with childlike hopelessness to her fate. This feeling of sick fear was much the same.

She remembered the lancing. Her brother Erchirion had held her on his lap, and her father, sternly gentle, had stood nearby. She remembered the fear turning to terror in the pit of her stomach as the physician, whom she had liked very much under normal circumstances but who then seemed a horrible figure, had taken the white-hot sterilized rod out of the brazier and approached her. She'd whimpered once and tried to wiggle away, but Erchirion had held her tight and let her bury her face in his tunic.

Then had come blinding, agonizing pain, and she'd screamed and jerked away. But the physician had been quick, and was already finished; he'd then put something soft and soothing on her foot, and it had cooled the pain. Still, she'd sobbed into Erchirion's chest for a long time. She still had the scar, too, small and faded on her left foot.

Strangely enough, the memory made her breathe a little easier. This fear was not that terror, and this pain would not be that wrending agony. It might be longer, but she did not believe anything could match the intensity of that experience. Though this time, there would be no brother to hold her tight, and no father to murmur how brave she had been while he stroked her hair.

"... such a pity." Lady Robrym's sigh drew Lothiriel's attention back to the present. "First, that horrible business with her husband, and now this." She shook her head. "I really don't know how she can hold up under this-- and now she's running that orphanage as well!" Lothiriel realized the room was quiet. "Poor girl," Lady Robrym said. "I worry for her. She's so fragile, I'm afraid she won't have the strength. Some people are just made to give up, I suppose." The genuine sympathy had vanished from her voice with the word "pity"; now, the subtle venom in her voice was reflected in the quick glance she darted at Lothiriel.

Lothiriel let her work fall from numb hands. "Lady Robrym," she said quietly, and waited. Lady Robrym looked back at her defiantly, and Lothiriel let the silence stretch out a little longer, but her attendant's spiteful confidence did not falter.

"I do not care what you say about me," she said after another moment. "You can say what you like about me, and I will not be affected, because I know the truth, and your opinion does not matter to me." Lady Robrym blushed, and her eyes narrowed spitefully.

"But you will not insult Lady Eambreth," Lothiriel continued. "She has withstood more than you will ever have to face, and if you did, it would crush you. She is strong, and brave, and _you will not denigrate her_."

"Or what, Your Highness?" Lady Robrym said, her mouth twisted in a sneer. "You will make me leave court?" She smiled as if she were joking, as if the idea of Lothiriel having that authority were laughable, but her eyes were defiant.

Lothiriel lifted her chin and stared back. "Yes," she said. "I will."

Lady Robrym's eyes widened, and her smile vanished. The room was silent for a moment, and then another moment. Then Lady Robrym got jerkily to her feet, her face pale. She mumbled something that might have been "Excuse me," and vanished through the outer door.

The talk in the room did not resume upon her exit, and several of the ladies exchanged glances that were, to Lothiriel, unreadable. How long had Lady Robrym been talking in that same vein? What else had she said? Finally someone introduced an unexceptionable subject, and conversation slowly returned, but the atmosphere in the room remained uneasy for the rest of the morning.

She caught Lady Celgwyn's eye, briefly, and was relieved when her senior attendant remained after the other ladies had left. "Lady Celgwyn, did I break some sort of unspoken rule?" she asked tiredly. "Does etiquette dictate I ignore her slander no matter what she says?" _Because I won't_, she added silently. _Not if she insults other people in order to get to me._

But her senior attendant shook her head. "No, Your Highness."

"Then why... was it so uncomfortable?"

Lady Celgwyn sat down. "I believe you startled your ladies, Your Highness," she said. "They did not expect you to take such a strong stand." She paused thoughtfully. "They may... be worried that you will also send them from court."

"But that's ridiculous!" Lothiriel said, then took a deep breath to calm herself. "I would not do that. You know that. They should know that."

"Yes, Your Highness," Lady Celgwyn said. "I believe they will realize that, when they stop to think." Her eyes glinted with humor. "As I said... you startled them."

Lothiriel sighed. She wondered what Lady Robrym would choose to do, whether she would hold her tongue, or continue her slanders. In which case, Lothiriel would have to make good on her warning to bar Lady Robrym from Meduseld, at least for a time. Whether she had the authority to do so... was a question only the king could decide.

She sighed again. She had no wish to issue ultimatums. Her anger had run away with her, but she did not regret it. It was intolerable that Lady Robrym would sit there and insult Lady Eambreth for things about which she was ignorant, and it was unthinkable that Lothiriel would let her.

"How are you feeling, Your Highness?" Lady Celgwyn asked, breaking her train of thought.

Lothiriel tried to smile. "A little tired, that's all," she said.

Her senior attendant nodded. "That's normal, for your time."

"I suppose so," Lothiriel agreed.

There was a short silence. Then Lady Celgwyn said, "Do not worry too much about Lady Robrym, Your Highness. We all have eyes in our heads. We can see the truth of things." She stood and curtsied. "Good day, Your Highness."

"Good day," Lothiriel murmured.

- - -

Instead of resting, she collected her escort and walked slowly down to the orphanage. The children had become used to seeing her there now, though some still clustered shyly behind Elltha's skirts, peering out with big eyes. But most of the younger children were playing with a couple of hide balls, and payed no attention to her. Lothiriel smiled to see them laughing and happy when not long before, most of them had been hollow-eyed and frightened.

In a corner of the courtyard, Isencaf and Elwyn, the seventeen-year-old, perched on the fence railings and a stump, and with them sat Anfrum holding her two infants. Isencaf was telling some story that made Elwyn laugh until tears ran down her cheeks, and even Anfrum smiled.

Lothiriel stepped inside to find Lady Eambreth wrapping the injured thumb of a curly-haired, grubby-faced boy. "If you want the bandage to stay on, you will have to keep it from getting wet or dirty," she told him. "Let the older boys play with the ball for a while. Why don't you go see if Elwyn will tell you a story?" She tied off the bandage and kissed the top of his head. "There. But don't pick at it!" Nodding dutifully, the boy scrambled off of the stool and ran outside. Lady Eambreth looked up and smiled. "Good afternoon, Your Highness. Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please." Lothiriel followed Lady Eambreth through the converted warehouse to the two small rooms at the back that served as her rooms, and sank gratefully into a wooden chair. "How are things here?" she asked as Lady Eambreth took a kettle out of the ashes where it had been heating and retrieved two mugs.

"Folcred sprained his ankle yesterday," Lady Eambreth told her as she poured and added honey. "Brinweld came down and looked at it and said it should heal well, but he'd have to stay off his feet for at least two weeks. So I set him to carving his own crutches, do give him something to do."

Lothiriel nodded. "How did he sprain his ankle?"

"Giving Framhild a piggyback ride," Lady Eambreth said. She smiled. "He looks after her like a brother."

Lothiriel sipped from her mug. "And how is Leofwine?"

Lady Eambreth's smile lit up her face and eyes. "Very well, Your Highness. He comes by the orphanage almost every day." She sipped her tea, her gaze off in the middle distance, and Lothiriel's heart momentarily ached.

"Have you decided on a date for your handfasting yet?" she asked.

Lady Eambreth shook her head. "I am content, and he is content, to wait. And then there is so much to do here at the orphanage."

"Yes," Lothiriel agreed. "I noticed that Anfrum looks happier these days."

Lady Eambreth shook her head. "It is good for her to be with other young people her age, even if there are only a few." Lothiriel hid a smile at her use of "young people"; Lady Eambreth was only nine years older than Anfrum. "And now she no longer has to worry about whether she will be able to feed her child."

Lothiriel nodded. There was a short silence as they both drank their tea. Then Lothiriel said, "You know Freca is still in the dungeons at Meduseld."

Lady Eambreth's face sobered. "Yes."

"It does not seem possible that he should escape," she said, "but... I have brought two extra guards with me. They will stay at the orphanage, and if you leave it, one of them will go with you."

"Thank you," Lady Eambreth said, her eyes sad.

"They both like children," Lothiriel added. "I did ask."

Lady Eambreth half-smiled. "You keep saying you do not want my thanks," she said finally. "Am I allowed to thank you for my life?"

Lothiriel shook her head. "No."

Lady Eambreth nodded once, as if in reluctant acceptance. There was another silence. Then she said, "Has Lady Cynwyn asked you about her children yet?"

Lothiriel blinked. "About her children?" Lady Cynwyn had two children, she recalled, a nine-year-old boy and a six-year-old girl.

"She heard that you were planning to hire a tutor," Lady Eambreth explained, "and wanted to know if she could pay for her children to attend his lessons at the orphanage."

"I don't see why she couldn't," Lothiriel said, "unless you object."

"Not unless there are too many of them," said Lady Eambreth.

"Too many?"

"She also said that many of the other noblewomen in Edoras, with children about the same age, were interested."

Lothiriel opened her mouth to say she understood, and then closed it again, her mind working rapidly. "How many outside children do you think the orphanage could accommodate for lessons?"

Lady Eambreth seemed hesitant. "Perhaps... forty."

Lothiriel thought that was stretching the confines of the warehouse of the bit, but Lady Eambreth knew its dimensions better. "The school-fees of forty children would go a long way towards supporting the orphanage," she murmured.

Lady Eambreth's eyes widened. "And the noblewomen would be more than willing to trade in things we need anyway, like cloth and food," she said. "It would be more convenient for them."

They spent most of the rest of the afternoon working out the details of the idea, and when Lothiriel finally left, it was with a light heart.

- - -

The temperature dropped rapidly the next morning and the sky grew leaden as a storm blew in from the north. Lothiriel's ladies chattered about the possibility of snow before finally concluding that it was unlikely, for which she was grateful, It was already cold enough for her.

Despite the weather her ladies sewed and wove merrily, talking about the trade goods from Gondor and the doings of the other nobility and the prospects of winter dresses. There was no quiet constraint on their conversation as there had been the day before. It was as if the events of that day had never occurred-- except that Lady Robrym was not there, and no one mentioned her.

When the ladies left for lunch, still talking and laughing, Lady Celgwyn remained behind, and seated herself. Her expression was unreadable. "I have been asked to deliver a message to you, Your Highness," she said. "Lady Robrym... apologizes for her behavior, and will be absent from court for some time on account of the illness of her sister."

So Lady Robrym had chosen to withdraw quietly-- at least it seemed quiet-- for a time rather than risk losing her place at court. No wonder the other ladies had not mentioned her, Lothiriel thought, and then realized that their cheerful conversation of the morning did not necessarily mean they had forgotten what had happened the previous day. "Lady Celgwyn," she said, and hesitated. "Is Lady Robrym's sister really ill?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Lady Celgwyn said. "She has been in the care of servants until now. But it may be that her sister's presence will be a comfort to her."

Lothiriel recalled that Lady Robrym's sister also lived in Edoras, though she did not attend court. So at least Lady Robrym was not exiling herself; she was just withdrawing completely from public life, as evidenced by her asking Lady Celgwyn to carry her message for her. Lothiriel felt a pang of guilt; she had not meant to force Lady Robrym into complete seclusion, whether penitent or no.

"She... has also asked me to convey her apologies to Lady Eambreth," Lady Celgwyn said, and Lothiriel, startled, looked up and saw that her senior attendant understood the significance of that request.

"Did she ask you to tell me that?"

"No."

And Lady Celgwyn was not known for having a loose tongue, so Lady Robrym could not have predicted she would have chosen to tell Lothiriel on her own. It seemed, then, that Lady Robrym really was contrite, or at least wanted to be sure of appearing fully so.

Lothiriel hesitated. At last she said, "Lady Celgwyn, this is not my business to ask, but what are you going to tell Lady Eambreth? She is ignorant of Lady Robrym's insult. At least, I believe her to be."

Lady Celgwyn nodded in confirmation. "None of us would repeat her words to spread, Your Highness," she said. "And if Lady Robrym had been saying such things elsewhere, we would have heard." It was her turn to pause. "I will tell Lady Eambreth that Lady Robrym wishes her well," she said finally. "And perhaps that she wishes to apologize for any past offenses."

Lothiriel nodded. The message would undoubtedly leave Lady Eambreth curious, but she knew Lady Celgwyn would be able to deflect her curiosity; or at least, by attempting to do so indicate that the matter was a delicate one, in which case Lady Eambreth's natural discretion would guide her. "Thank you for delivering your message, Lady Celgwyn," she said, and then added, "and for your insights."

Lady Celgwyn rose and curtsied. "You are welcome, Your Highness." With a last inscrutable glance, she left.

Lothiriel got awkwardly to her feet. Every time she moved, these days, she felt that her swollen stomach was making her clumsy and ungainly, and she was often quietly embarrassed. _Six more weeks_, she thought wistfully, and went to look for warmer clothes.

- - -

Eomer lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of his bedchamber. The room was chilly, but that did not keep him awake; he just had too much on his mind: cares of the country, cares of the city, cares of his special project, cares of himself. These last he placed after the rest, and devoted little time to them during the day, with the result that they often crowded his thoughts late at night. He thought of Eowyn, and when he would next see her, and if she was happy in her adopted homeland, and of Faramir, and if his brother-by-marriage had found his peace and freedom from painful memory in Ithilien. And he thought of Lothiriel, and himself, and if he could possibly lead his people rightly.

Brothers, he thought. He'd had no blood brothers growing up; the child his mother had miscarried had been a son. After the death of their parents, Theodred had stood in a brother's stead to Eomer and Eowyn, and they had loved him, and he had loved them. But he had died too. Now for the first time in his life Eomer had brothers, not one but four, all by marriage. And he had a bond-brother in Aragorn, a heart-brother, the link forged at the battle of Helm's Deep and on the fields of Pelennor and before the Black Gate. Nothing could replace his lost parents and uncle and cousin, but this new half-family, acquired in unexpected ways, eased the ache.

He turned to look at his wife, laying quietly on the other side of the bed, and then rolled onto his side as he realized that the bed was shaking, ever so slightly. Lothiriel's shoulders were trembling, but whether she was shivering or silently crying he could not tell.

"Lothiriel," he said softly. "Are you cold?"

There was a short silence. "Yes, a li-little," she finally admitted, and he could hear how shaky her breath was.

He looked at her, and then at the three blankets piled on top of the comforter they shared. It would be futile to get another, he realized. Instead he moved until her back was against his chest and torso, and gently put his arms around her, careful not to put pressure on her swollen stomach.

She tensed, and then lay still. "It's all right," he murmured, and lay very still himself until he felt her start to relax. Her cheeks flushed, as if she was ashamed of her reaction, and she began to shiver again, but his body heat soon warmed her.

He lay quietly, breathing in the gentle scent of her hair, feeling the rhythm of her slow, even breaths, and eventually her eyes closed in sleep, and her head leaned back against his chest. His hand, resting lightly on her stomach, felt a faint, intermittent pressure, and his eyes widened as he realized it was their child, moving in its sleep. _I hold my family in my arms_, he thought, and was overcome with wonder.

Lothiriel also shifted in her sleep, and he simply looked at her for a long time, touched that she trusted him enough to go to sleep in his arms; then he gently kissed the top of her head. "Good night, Lothiriel," he whispered.

And Lothiriel felt the caress in her sleep, and it twined its way in among pleasant dreams.


	17. Chapter 17

Lothiriel was thinking of dead sea creatures.

The baby was kicking too much for her to actually be dreaming of them, but she lay awake and remembered with longing the taste of all the seafood that was so prevalent in Dol Amroth: crabs, lobsters, mussels, oysters, scallops, saltwater fish... The only shelled creatures she had seen served as food in the Riddermark were crayfish, brought from a western river, but she'd been too nauseated to taste them. She'd heard from her ladies that some of the king's riders who had also been to southern Gondor had said that the strange red animals tasted like lobster.

She shook her head and wondered at the strange turns of her mind. Surely seafood was the least important of the things she had left behind in Dol Amroth. Her family... Lothiriel swallowed against the knot in her throat. She hoped to go back some day; after all, the political rationale for her marriage had been to strengthen the ties between Rohan and Gondor, and she did not think her father would want his grandchild growing up ignorant of his mother's homeland. But she knew very well she could only ever visit; after each period of happiness would come again the heartwrenching pain of farewell. Things would never be the same again.

Lothiriel realized that the bed was shaking. She rolled onto her back, and then sat up when she saw that across the mattress, Eomer was tossing and turning in his sleep, muttering agitatedly in Rohirric. She shifted awkwardly until she sat next to him. "Eomer," she said softly, and put her hand on his shoulder. "Eomer!" He didn't wake, but his dream-speech became anguished and his movements more violent.

Lothiriel tried to shake him awake, but he seemed trapped in his nightmare, and she was wary of rousing him too suddenly. "Eomer!" she said again. She was worried; never in their nine months of marriage had she seen him so agitated and helpless, and she did not want to think about the content of a nightmare that could make him so. She realized suddenly how much she had come to depend upon his strength. "Eomer!"

"Ná!" His eyelids snapped open and he started to sit bolt upright before realizing where he was. The surge of muscle dislodged Lothiriel's hand from his shoulder, and she watched with concern as his dark, troubled eyes focused on her face. "Lothiriel," he said, his voice shaky. He closed his eyes and took several unsteady breaths, and finally lay back and inhaled deeply. When he looked up at her again, his eyes were calmer. "I am sorry. I did not mean to disturb you."

"It's all right," she said softly, dismissing his apology with a shake of her head. Hesitantly, she reached out and put her hand palm-down on his forehead; his right arm shifted on the bedclothes, and she almost drew back, but his hand stilled. His skin was hot to the touch, and she remembered with a faint blush the warmth of his body against hers during the cold night the month before. "I wasn't sleeping." Too late, Lothiriel realized that this was not a good beginning; she did not want to explain what had kept her from sleep.

But he did not seem to notice. After a few moments his breathing returned to normal, and she drew her hand back. "Thank you," he said, and Lothiriel nodded mutely, curling her hands in the linens by her knees.

He threw off the covers, got up and paced to the window, where he stood for a long time staring out at the city below. She hesitated, then asked, "Would it help to talk?"

Eomer was silent, and she did not think he had heard her, or heeded her. But then he said, in a voice so low as to be guttural, "I dreamt Aragorn never came up the Anduin." His fists clenched at his sides. "And I led my people to death on the Pelennor Fields."

Now she understood the horror of his dream. The little her brothers had told of the war had been enough to paint a vivid word-picture of blood, death, and despair; how much worse it would be for Eomer to imagine himself not only there again but responsible for the carnage, when he had already lost so much. Lothiriel did not know what to say. Finally she began, "Dreams..." and stopped. But the tension in her husband's shoulders made her continue when she would not under other circumstances. "Dreams are the only way the enemy can hurt you now."

Lothiriel was not sure whether he relaxed or not as he stood, motionless, silhouetted against the moonlight. "Thank you," he said finally, and turned away from the window with visible effort. She wondered what he had seen instead of the rooftops of Edoras.

"Why could you not sleep?"

She was surprised enough by the question to let slip the first thing that came to mind. "I miss my home, and my family," she said softly, then immediately wished she had bit back the words. He did not need the burden of her unhappiness.

"Will you tell me of it?"

Again Lothiriel was surprised. She knew he had been to Dol Amroth once, when she was in Minas Tirith, and he was well-acquainted with her family. Then she realized he probably wanted something to take his mind off of his dream, and remembering the horror that had lingered in his eyes after he had woken, she could not, would not refuse.

Lothiriel searched for something to say that he would not already know, and finally realized that he had never seen Dol Amroth in spring. But as she thought, she felt her throat tighten with the poignancy of the memories. "The people--" she swallowed. "The people there have a great love for plants, and they grow them wherever they can, in windows and on rooftops. In spring, when everything blooms, in some places you can hardly see the stone for the flowers and the banners." She swallowed again, forcing her voice to remain even. She knew that if he realized his request was distressing her, he would tell her to stop; so she would not let him realize. "And since the city is so grey, everyone loves color, and they dress brightly. The sails are bright, too, and on a clear day you can stand on the highest tower and look out over the bay and it looks as if a child has spilled a bag of painted pebbles across a piece of glass." Lothiriel sighed quietly, and felt a single warm tear trickle down her cheek to pool in the corner of her mouth. She did not lift her hand to wipe it away. Eomer would have seen if she had.

A few deep, quiet breaths cleared her throat, and after a moment she continued. "So though Dol Amroth is the city by the sea, its people love the earth just as much," she said, her voice soft as she lost herself in memory. "Almost every family has a garden. Even my parents have one. And each sailor, when he goes out to sea, carries by his heart a leather bag with dirt from near his home's threshold." She felt a wave of sadness: she had undertaken a journey as strange and as final as that of any sailor, yet where was her bag of earth to anchor her back home?

_No_, she reprimanded herself. _Now you are just being silly_. Yet though the idea was fanciful , her heart still ached.

"There will be room for a garden, come spring, if you wish it." Eomer's low voice from the other side of the bed startled her; she had not felt him lay back down.

"I do not know," she said softly. "I do not know what would grow here. But I thank you."

"Roses grow here," he said after a moment. "My mother used to grow roses." She felt him shift on the bed. "I remember Eowyn would weave them into wreaths for her hair every summer. The pink were her favorite." Lothiriel could hear the smile in his voice. But when she twisted round to look at him, it had vanished, replaced by a far away, troubled look as he stared at the ceiling.

So she told him of her family: of her mother, and the plants she grew in her garden, and of her brothers and their wives and children. She spoke of summer days spent playing on the shore with her cousins, and the evenings when her father would tell her tales of the elves as she listened, wide-eyed, curled in the large armchair in his study. She spoke of whatever she could think of that would take his mind off of his dream, and though she had to swallow often, her voice never broke.

Finally she looked over and saw that he was sleeping, his golden hair fanned out on the pillow beneath him, his chest gently rising and falling. Lothiriel smiled sadly. She felt emptied, as if she had poured out something indescribably precious for his sake, and she did not know what she would find in its place.

Lothiriel eased herself down onto her pillow, and let the silent, hot tears run out of her eyes and across her face; and the catharsis comforted her.

- - -

Eomer stood in the northern guard tower, looking out and feeling the wind riffling through his hair. He was watching the sunset emblazoned across the western sky in gilt and pink, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

He was thinking of Lothiriel, and how she had woken him from his nightmare and then talked to him until he had fallen back asleep. He still remembered the sensations of her cool, gentle touch and her soft voice cutting through the lingering horror of his dream immediately after he had woken and anchoring him to reality. Eomer did not think she knew how much she had helped him, and he had fallen asleep without telling her.

_She gives so much_, he thought. But always to other people: Lady Eambreth, the orphans, her ladies, him. _She does not know how to keep anything for herself._

He stood there a moment longer, then turned and went inside.

- - -

Lothiriel luxuriated in the warmth of the blankets as she pulled them closer to her chin and watched the fire drowsily from under lidded eyes; there was always a well-built fire now, she thought sleepily, ever since the cold night the month before. Eomer sat at the table, sorting through and writing responses to a pile of documents, and the quiet scratching of his pen lulled her in and out of sleep as she waited for him to blow out the candle and bank the fire.

She blinked. In the few seconds for which she thought she'd closed her eyes, the fire had died down to embers, and it was apparently now the middle of the night. "Eomer," she said softly, sitting up in bed. He turned to look at her, surprise evident on his face. "Is it the second watch?"

"Yes," he admitted. "I am sorry. I did not mean to wake you."

"You didn't," she told him, and looked at the stack of papers still remaining in front of him. After a moment's hesitation, she wrapped one of the blankets tightly around her and padded quietly across the floor to the table, wincing as her feet met cold stone. "May I not help with any of this?" she asked. "Surely it is not good for you to be up at all hours."

Again, Eomer looked surprised. "I do not wish to burden you with it," he said.

That she was trying to aid someone else made her more insistent than she would otherwise have been. "But I wish to help," she said.

He simply looked at her for a moment, as if thinking, and though she did not feel threatened she was about to lower her eyes when he gestured to the pile. "These are reports from all of the Mark," he said. "Of crops, and of the harvests, and weather, and travelers, and health. I am trying to summarize them to be useful,"

Lothiriel picked up the top sheet and looked at it. "Could not your advisors do this?"

"I... would not ask it of them," Eomer said.

She absorbed this for a moment. "Do you not trust them?"

"I do. But I do not want to be ignorant of what is happening in the Riddermark," he explained. Then, quieter: "I do not want to fail my people."

Lothiriel looked up at him in surprise. "You will not fail your people!" she said. "You have led them through war, famine and winter, and still they prosper."

"Rohan prospered under Theoden, once," Eomer said softly. There were lines of worry etched on his face.

She was hesitant to reply, for he knew the truth of it better than she. But finally she could not believe ill of the memory of a valiant man, and she said, "In Gondor it was told that Theoden was also a good king."

Eomer turned away, and Lothiriel regretted speaking. He stared at the fire. "Yes," he said finally. "Theoden was a good king. I did not mean to imply otherwise." He shook his head slightly. "What happened was not his fault."

_No, of course not_, Lothiriel thought. "Eomer," she said softly, and he looked up. "It was not yours, either. Any of it."

"I know," he said heavily, after a moment, and she could hear the silent _but_ riding at the end.

"You will not fail," she added, _willing_ him to understand that she was sincere, and not just trying to make him feel better. But why did he doubt himself? Could he, with all his perceptivity, not see his own strengths and abilities? Could he not see that he was a good king?

"Thank you," Eomer said, after another pause, and the deep lines on his face eased a little.

- - -

Eomer stifled a yawn and put his pen down, stretching his cramping hand. The pile of papers he had to look over had dwindled to a mere three; he might get to bed before the third watch.

He looked up and saw that across the table Lothiriel had fallen asleep, her head pillowed on her arms, a stack of parchment covered in small, neat writing to her right. Her dark hair spilled around her shoulders and onto the papers she had gone through, hiding from view what he realized had to be a sizable stack. _I should have told her to go to bed_, he thought with a flash of guilt. But she had been so intent on helping, and he had thought she would have stopped if she grew tired. _I should know better by now._

Eomer watched her for a moment, observing the way the firelight played across the planes of her face, content at the expression of peace on her face. He was reluctant to wake her, but she could not spend the night in the chair.

He reached out to wake her, and gently his fingers brushed over her hair as it spilled down her back. It seemed a pity to rouse her from her peaceful sleep, and he wondered what she would think if he were to pick her up and carry her to the bed. Almost immediately realized that she would certainly wake up, and he thought she would be uncomfortable. He remembered how her entire body had gone rigid that night he had put his arms around her.

"Lothiriel," he said quietly, and she lifted her head from her arms and looked at him, her beautiful grey eyes clouded with sleep. "Would you not be more comfortable on the bed?"

She nodded drowsily, and pulled her blanket more closely around her. "You should sleep, too," she said. "Can that not wait?"

He smiled at her concern. "I am almost done," he said. "I will sleep soon." She nodded again, and pushed back her chair and stood. Even nine months pregnant, she still moved with quiet grace. "Thank you," he added, looking up and meeting her eyes.

"Of course," she said softly, and moved around the table to go back to bed.

- - -

Author's note: Sorry this chapter took so long to get out! My family had a crisis of magnitude and we're still recovering from it. No one was hurt, though.

There are seven chapters left in this story, and then an accompanying one-shot and a series of stories, "Tales from the Orphanage." Those will be posted as I write my next story—and if you thought Lothiriel was too passive in this, be sure to take a look at it. It might suit your taste better. ;-)

Also, I changed chapter sixteen, so you might want to go back and look at that.

Thank you to Lialathuveril for her comments and advice on this chapter!


	18. Chapter 18

Author's note: I'm sorry this took so long to get out. It was difficult to write and life interfered. To make up for it, you get an 8,000-word-plus chapter. That could be good or bad…

Many thanks to the writers at Garden of Ithilien for their advice and suggestions!

- - -

_I am sick of being tired_, Lothiriel thought tiredly as she sank into an armchair in the solar. The baby was due to be born any day now, and she no longer had any energy. Her feet were swollen and often tender, and her nausea had inexplicably returned. She could not walk long distances unaided; she had such trouble breathing now that she had to stop to rest every minute or so. The baby had not yet engaged, and as such was still putting pressure on her lungs.

There was a knock on the door leading from the antechamber, and she called, "Come in." Lady Eambreth stepped through, and Lothiriel smiled in greeting, her pleasure modified by curiosity when Isencaf and Elwyn followed her former attendant inside. Isencaf was quiet and unreadable, as always, but Elwyn's face fairly glowed with excitement.

"We've come to take you for a walk, Your Highness," Lady Eambreth said. A persistent smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and Lothiriel felt herself start to smile in response to the contagious exuberance of the other two women.

"I'm afraid I can't walk very far," she said, wondering what was going on.

"That's all right," Lady Eambreth assured her. "The three of us can support you. You really will want to see this, Your Highness."

Elwyn's enthusiasm bubbled over. "We're taking you to see your surprise!" she said, and added belatedly, "Your Highness."

Lothiriel blinked. "My surprise?"

"It's not precisely _your_ surprise," Lady Eambreth explained. "But you are probably the only person in Edoras who does not know about it. And we thought that if we did not bring you to see it soon, you would not be able to come."

Her curiosity piqued, Lothiriel got carefully to her feet, and Isencaf and Lady Eambreth each took one of her arms to support her. Elwyn hurried ahead to open the doors.

"What sort of... surprise... is this?" Lothiriel asked breathlessly as they passed slowly through the stone corridors.

"A... useful one," Lady Eambreth hedged. "It was the king's idea."

"The king?" Lothiriel repeated, surprised. What could he possibly come up with that would be simultaneously useful and on such a large scale that the whole of Edoras was involved? And if it was not her surprise, why keep it a secret from her?

But further effort had to be expended on walking, not thinking. Once they got out of doors, the four of them stopped for a moment to let Lothiriel catch her breath, and she shivered as the chilly winter wind blew around her. It was warm for a winter's day, and it was the middle of the afternoon, but even so she had goosebumps.

"Your Highness?" Elwyn handed Lothiriel an extra cloak. "It's only one of the orphanage's extras, but..."

"Thank you," Lothiriel said, taking it gratefully and wrapping it around herself. She looked around for a moment. They weren't far from the beehives, dormant and well-wrapped for the winter, that in spring and summer provided all of Meduseld's honey and also enriched the yields of the gardens and fields in Edoras. Those gardens, too, were brown and dead-looking, the vegetables and few ornamentals heavily mulched against the winter.

"Thank you," she said again. "I think I am ready to walk again." As they walked, she began to hear cheerful shouts and calls, and the noise of many people. The activity must have been related to the mysterious surprise, she thought; there was nothing else going on in that part of Edoras that day.

She quickly felt her lungs tighten, but curiosity drove her forward until Lady Eambreth said, "Take your time, Your Highness. It will still be there." Her eyes sparkled with happiness.

Finally they rounded a set of buildings and a low rise in the ground, and Lothiriel stopped short. In front of them, a large plot of land was swarming with men, all working on the half-constructed frame of a two-story building. Even as she watched, though, a team of horses, mules and men strained forward, lifting a large wooden wall in place against one side of the timbers.

She shook her head. "What..."

Lady Eambreth smiled broadly. "They are building an orphanage, Your Highness."

Lothiriel's eyes widened in astonishment, and her lips parted. She could find nothing to say as she watched the construction. There had to be at least fifty men there, and she saw the younger, fit members of the king's council, and Marshal Elfhelm directing the mules, and Eothain, the captain of the Royal Guard, pulling on the ropes to raise one of the walls, and Eomer himself wielding a hammer to nail part of the frame into place. She saw some men she recognized, riders and guards, but more that she did not. And near the partially-constructed fence, Lady Celgwyn and some of her other attendants were serving something steaming in wooden tankards.

And all of them, all of them, were there to serve the lowliest occupants of Edoras. She could find nothing to say as she watched the men enthusiastically and wholeheartedly laboring in the cold... all in order to house her orphans. Hot tears rose in her eyes, and she did not blink them back.

Finally she said, "How?"

"The walls were assembled in workshops in Edoras where you would not visit," Lady Eambreth explained, "and then construction began when you were laid up with pregnancy."

Belatedly Lothiriel recalled Eomer's offer to take the matter to his council, back when she had first had the idea; but when she had heard nothing more of it, she had assumed the idea had dropped. Realization dawned. "You have known about this for months," Lothiriel said. "You were surprised when I said we would house the orphans in the warehouse, and you said the tutor from Gondor could teach more students than the warehouse could hold."

Lady Eambreth ducked her head, but she was not at all penitent. "Yes, Your Highness," she agreed, now smiling broadly.

"What will it look like when it is finished?" Lothiriel asked after a moment.

"The bottom will be rooms for eating and playing and studying and working and storage," Lady Eambreth told her, "with a kitchen at the back. And the top will be rooms for the children to sleep in, instead of all being out in the open. And there will be washrooms, with water piped in." She smiled the smile of someone who does not anticipate hauling any more basins of water.

"And rooms for you and the other adults?"

"On both top and bottom, so someone can keep an eye on all parts of the building. And there will be room for gardens out front," she said, indicating the wide expanse of land, presently only slushy dirt, between the fence and the building, "and pens for animals out back, and a stable for a few ponies. And, Your Highness," Lady Eambreth's eyes widened with delight, "your cousin the Steward--"

"Faramir knew about this?" Lothiriel was startled into interrupting.

"Yes, Your Highness," Lady Eambreth said, "he sent another load of clothing from the storehouses of Minas Tirith, and he sent _books_."

"Books?" Lothiriel's eyes also widened. She knew what a gift that was, to a people who had no written language of their own. Books contained knowledge and the skills to perpetuate it; books could contain the world.

"Yes, Your Highness," Lady Eambreth said again. "And the tutor will instruct them in Westron, and they will be able to practice by reading. And--" she shook her head slightly. "With the books were blankets, woven and sent by the Queen of Gondor and her ladies."

Lothiriel was rendered speechless that so many people were involved, that so many people _cared_. This had been a massive undertaking, she realized, all the more so for keeping it from her. _I never suspected anything_.

Her mind drifted back to the books, for truthfully she valued them even more than the elven-styled blankets that would keep their occupants warm in any weather. _How like Faramir_, Lothiriel thought, _to know exactly what needs to be done_. She looked up then and saw Eomer spot them, put down his hammer, and come over to greet them. _And Faramir is not the only one_.

"My lady," he said, smiling at her with warm eyes. "Lady Eambreth." Lady Eambreth curtsied in return, and Lothiriel collected her thoughts enough to nod; she barely noticed when Lady Eambreth made herself scarce.

"This is wonderful," she finally managed to say, knowing that the words were inadequate.

Eomer must have guessed some of the questions swirling in her head, for he said, "The land was part of my mother's dowry. She would have been pleased to see it put to such a use."

He was happier and less worried, Lothiriel realized, than she had seen him in a long time.

"This is why you are a good king," she told him quietly. "Because you care about your people."

The smile vanished from his face, and the strength of the gratitude-- or was it indebtedness?-- that rose in his eyes startled and moved her, but she did not look away, instead holding his gaze as she saw that the words meant as much to him as she had meant them to. Finally he looked away and whispered, "Thank you," and she somehow knew that he was too stirred for any other words.

-

Elfhelm winced as a mule trod on his foot, and took a quick step back. As he did so he happened to look up, and he saw the king and the queen.

They were standing near the fence, away from others, and as he watched the queen said something to the king that made stare at her, eyes wide and startled, and Elfhelm knew it was not a hostile stare. And she met his gaze, and neither of them looked away for a handful of heartbeats.

He smiled in satisfaction. _Good_.

-

Lothiriel opened her eyes, disoriented, and tried to figure out what time it was and what had woke her. Beside her, Eomer slept quietly, and the wood was nearly down to ash in the hearth. It was not either of those things.

Her stomach twinged again, and her heart sped up as she realized what was happening. _Oh no_, she thought, _please no..._ Her next irrational thought was that if she laid very still, and pretended she didn't feel anything, the contractions would go away.

_If only_, she thought, suddenly not so anxious to have her pregnancy end. She took deep breaths to try to calm herself. "Eomer," Lothiriel said, but her voice came out as no more than a whisper. She tried again. "Eomer."

He opened his eyes and looked over at her. "I think... the baby," Lothiriel told him, trying not to let him see how frightened she was.

Eomer's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, then he threw off the covers and reached for his tunic, folded on the trunk at the foot of the bed. "Will you be all right here while I get Brinweld?" he asked her, watching her intently. She nodded, not knowing whether she was lying or not. He started to say something, but evidently thought the better of it. Then he was gone.

Lothiriel also stood and pulled her dressing gown around her. She thought it was early yet, from the space between the contractions, but she also thought she must have slept through the mildest first pangs. Barely feeling the cold stone floor against her bare feet, she paced back and forth, torn between a paralyzing fear and a relentless nervous energy. _I can't do this_, she thought desperately, _I just can't_. All her earlier, somewhat tenuous, reassurance about the upcoming ordeal had vanished the moment she had felt the first pang. _So much pain, so much labor, for so long_... she felt her heart literally pounding in her chest, speeding out of control despite her slow, even breaths.

She drank a mug of water to moisten her dry mouth, then another. She braided her hair behind her so it would be out of the way, and visited the privy. Finally, when she was pacing the floor again, the door from the solar opened, and Brinweld stepped in with one of Edoras's midwives, his occasional assistant. Lothiriel knew that seven healers from Gondor had arrived earlier in the year, to teach the Rohirrim healers skills that had been lost over the years, but they were all out in other towns; besides, she had just as much faith in Brinweld. The little he had not known, he had learned quickly from the Gondorians. And it would comfort her to have someone familiar.

Out of breath, she sank down on the bed. "Good... evening? Or is it morning?" she asked a little hesitantly, unsure what the proper protocol was for being polite to people you had just roused out of their beds in order to perform several hours of tedious, bloody work.

But neither of them seemed perturbed. "Morning, milady," Brinweld replied. "Just before dawn." He called all women of the upper classes milady, and the men, even Eomer, milord; Lothiriel supposed that, all having the same organs, they were all equal in his eyes. He scrubbed his arms up to the elbow with harsh lye soap as the midwife put on a kettle of water to boil. "If you would lay back, milady, I can find out what position the baby is in."

Lothiriel did as she was directed and unfastened her garments, prepared to feel embarrassed and uncomfortable at his touch, but his fingers were so gentle and unobtrusive as they moved over her swollen abdomen that she felt no flush of awkwardness. After a moment Brinweld straightened up and nodded in satisfaction. "Head down," he told her. "As it should be." She was relieved; she'd hoped the child would not be a breech birth.

"Are the contractions painful?" he asked, and she was grateful he did not add _yet_. She shook her head. "Has your water broken?" She shook her head again. She knew she had a long time ahead of her.

"Do you know what will happen?" the healer asked.

"Yes, I attended the births of my niece and nephews," she told him, and then sucked in her breath as another contraction tugged at her stomach.

Brinweld nodded in satisfaction. "It will be a while, milady," he said. "It will help if you can rest right now."

"I don't-- I don't think I can." She was too anxious, too nervous, too frightened, and even if she were calm, the rhythmic contractions of her womb would disturb any rest she might find.

"I will give you something to help." With another nod that was somehow more reassuring than a comforting smile, Brinweld went to rummage among the things he had brought, and the midwife Aeryn took his place by the bed. In her arms were a bundle of thick bedclothes.

"If you will stand, milady, I can put these down as protection," she said, and added, "They've been boiled clean."

With difficulty, Lothiriel got to her feet and supported herself against the wall as the midwife quickly and efficiently spread the thick cloth over the bed. She'd even brought blankets to replace the thick down comforter, and Lothiriel was grateful, for the pre-dawn air was chilly in the stone chamber. She shivered, from the cold and from fearful anticipation.

"Here, milady." Lothiriel turned to find Brinweld beside her, and took the mug of steaming liquid from him. It tasted faintly of chamomile, and something else bitter, and she wondered how it could possibly make her relaxed enough to sleep. Still, when Aeryn had spread the cloths over the bed, she obediently laid back down and pulled the blankets up over her. And though her thoughts and her heart raced, and her womb continued to cramp, slowly her mind seemed to detach from her body, and the contractions seemed no more irritating than hiccoughs. And she was so tired...

-

Lothiriel sat up and choked off a strangled cry. The pain, real pain this time, had woken her from sleep, and for a moment she thought she was going to scream. The sensation was not that bad, but _Hours of this!_ She looked around frantically, devoid of all sense of the passage of time, until she saw that outside the window, the sun was dim in the sky. She'd slept as much as two hours, perhaps.

Brinweld rose from the chair he had been sitting in by the fire, and started to move to her side, but the door from the solar opened and Aeryn entered. "That's sent them off," she said with satisfaction, her voice quiet.

"Who off?" Lothiriel asked, and Aeryn turned towards her in surprise.

"Those who wanted to attend the birth, milady," she explained.

"Attend?" Lothiriel echoed.

"Yes, milady." She grimaced. "It used to be tradition here, and some have not yet given it up."

"That's..." Lothiriel shuddered. "Thank you for sending them away." The very thought of having the nobles of Rohan watch her as she labored sent chills up and down her spine; it would have felt like a violation of the most intimate kind.

"The contractions, milady?" Brinweld asked.

"They're painful now," she said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. "What time is it?"

"The third hour after dawn," Aeryn told her. "You have slept a long time, it should go quickly now."

Lothiriel shuddered. That was not what she wanted to hear; she did not want to know that it would go quickly now, because she knew that in terms of labor this meant several hours of intense pain. She wanted it to slow, or better yet stop altogether-- she wanted to not be pregnant-- she wanted to be _home_ in Dol Amroth--

"I think I'm going to throw up," she gasped as a rising tide of fear and nausea swept away all self-control. Aeryn held a wooden basin in front of her as she vomited up the dinner she'd forced down the night before, and waited patiently through the dry heaves. Finally, Lothiriel choked down the rest of her bile and sat back up, her cheeks flushed with shame. "I'm sorry," she said.

Aeryn dismissed her apology with a shake of her head as she handed her a mug of water and took the basin to the privy to empty it. Brinweld waited for her rapid breathing to subside, then offered, "Do you want something to quell the nausea?"

She shook her head. "I don't think it will matter much soon," she said weakly. Then she felt the stirrings of another contraction, and the look on her face must have alerted Brinweld, for he spread his hands across her distended belly and gently felt the movement. Lothiriel was too terrified to care about any embarrassment, and struggling not to show it; above all she had to be strong.

The pain peaked and she gasped, rendered temporarily speechless, unable to do anything but wait for it to subside. _I can't _do _this_, she thought desperately. _What happens when I run out of strength? _

She barely noticed when Brinweld left her side, to return a few moments later with another mug of hot liquid. "Blue and black cohosh," he told her. "To speed the labor. And willow bark to ease the pain."

She took it from him gratefully and drank it quickly, grateful for its warmth and anticipating its aid. "It will help if you can walk around," the healer added. "The pain will be less, and you will progress faster."

Lothiriel looked doubtfully at the floor, but rose with his help and began to pace unsteadily. Aeryn hovered unobtrusively nearby, ready to support her if she needed help, but Lothiriel concentrated on walking on her own to take the edge off of her anxiety.

_This is not so bad_, she told herself firmly when the next contraction arrived. _The pain is a little worse than monthly cramps, and it will be over much sooner. It is mostly just the tension_. She forced herself to breathe through it, albeit raggedly. _I can do this. Every mother in the world does this sooner or later. My mother labored seven times and lived_. But Illiven had not been able to give birth easily, and three of the babies had not been so lucky; what would have been Lothiriel's elder brother had been stillborn, as had a boy and a girl after her. Lothiriel shoved that thought out of her head. Her and Eomer's child was obviously alive and healthy; she could feel it kicking vigorously.

She didn't know how long she walked the floor, as the contractions grew steadily longer and more intense and she just managed to fight off her panic with each one. Her feet were numb from the cold and the weight they were supporting, and her back ached horribly. The sun grew a little brighter, and Brinweld added more wood to the fire to keep the chamber from being too chilly. From time to time, Aeryn or Brinweld would give her another drink to swallow. But all the time she felt as if her nerves were fraying, as if she were just on the edge of losing self-control. She touched the cool stone walls to ground herself in reality, and focused on the sound of the fire crackling or the smell of the herbs. Often Aeryn or Brinweld would murmur something soothing to her, but she barely heard them.

Finally she could stand the waiting, the anxiety, the fear no longer, and sank down on her knees as the next contraction came, rocking back and forth on her heels. Warm tears streamed down her face, and she had to work hard to force herself to breathe through it; her overwhelming impulse was to curl up and stay as still as possible until it was over, but the pain was too intense.

Then Brinweld was kneeling on one side of her, supporting her-- "Breathe, it will be all right," he said, and Aeryn was on her other side-- "I think it's time we got you back to bed, milady," she said, and then there was a surge of warmth through her abdomen and a gush of fluid down her legs, and her water had broken, soaking the lower part of her dressing gown. Lothiriel noticed a significant look passing between the two healers, and felt another stab of fear at whatever it was she did not understand.

"You should try to use the privy," Brinweld said. "It will make things easier." She nodded, vaguely aware of the pressure on her bladder and not sure if it was the child or the water she'd drank, and stumbled to her feet with the help of the two flanking her. Aeryn wrapped her arm around her waist to support her, and helped her slowly into the privy, waiting with her inside and turning her back to give Lothiriel privacy.

As she sat on the privy, she tried to resist the urge to throw up again. There was nothing left in her stomach, and dry heaves would only hurt. Finally she splashed cold water on her face and ran it through her hair, hoping it would cool the hot flush of fear spreading across her body from her heart. Then she moved heavily back out into the bedchamber, where Aeryn was waiting with a fresh garment. "You will be more comfortable in this, milady," she said, slipping the sodden one off of Lothiriel's shoulders. "And you will want your stomach free."

She wasn't sure about that, but allowed herself to be led back to the bed, though she regretted losing the modicum of control that pacing had given to her. In the corner was a wooden birthing stool the healers had brought with them, but no one suggested using it; she knew it would be too uncomfortable. The bed was warm after the cold air of the chamber, but she was in no state to appreciate it.

The strongest contraction yet overwhelmed her body, and all other thought vanished.

-

Eomer was also pacing, walking up and down the council chamber in an endless circle that would have amused the other men present had their king not been so distressed. "Eomer," Elfhelm said gently. "She will be all right."

He stopped for a moment to stare out the far window. "It's been going on for so long," he said finally, his hands gripping the sill tightly.

"It usually does," Herefara mused. "Sometimes it takes days. This is not so long." The 'days' comment did not seem to comfort the king.

"She is stronger than you know," Elfhelm said. "Your wife is one of the bravest people I've met, Eomer."

"Yes, she married you, didn't she?" Herefara added. Elfhelm shot him a quelling glance, but Eomer didn't seem to notice the statement or the glance.

"It is not her courage or her strength that I doubt," he said, and started to continue, but shook his head.

Herefara rose abruptly. "I'm going to ask if there's been any news," he said, and left.

"I do not doubt her courage or her strength," Eomer said again after he was gone. "I have seen too much of both. But children take after their parents, and any child of mine will be large, and she is so slender..." He swallowed. "Brinweld said it might be a difficult birth."

"It will be all right," Elfhelm said again. Eomer nodded mechanically. "Brinweld is the best healer in the Mark, and Aeryn is a skilled midwife."

Eomer sighed. "The last queen of the Mark died in childbirth." His voice was low and rough.

"Yes," Elfhelm admitted. "But she was already ill, and she was old for children." Theoden and the woman he had loved had tried so hard to have children, only to have them miscarry or be stillborn over and over. And the last one, the one that had lived, had killed Elfhild. "Her Highness is young and healthy."

"If..." Eomer began, and then stopped. He turned to face Elfhelm. "Do not think I am being morbid. But if she should..." he had to take a breath. "If she were..." He stopped, and shook his head. "I would want to say goodbye. I have to tell her... I have to tell her all the things that I have not told her, that she needs to know."

Elfhelm stood and went to Eomer, forcing the younger man to look at him. "She will not die in childbirth," he said firmly. "Do not fear for her life. Think of the child you will have."

Eomer sighed, finally, and Elfhelm took that as a good sign. "I wish I could somehow bear her pain for her. I do not want her to suffer."

"You cannot," Elfhelm said quietly. "But that you are willing would be enough."

-

For Lothiriel, it would not have been enough at that moment.

She would have appreciated his willingness, knowing that he meant it in all sincerity, but the fact would have remained that he could not physically take her pain from her. So her heart would have been soothed-- but not her body.

She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut against the powerful forces wracking her body. The pain had been going on for hours, getting stronger and stronger ever since her water broke. With each contraction, now, came the overwhelming urge to bear down, but Brinweld would not let her. "You will hurt yourself," he had warned, so she had resisted. But she couldn't help thinking that if she could only push, the pain might _stop_... She did not know how she had borne it so far, but with every new stomach-clenching came the thought that she could do so no longer.

But it was not a matter of giving up, for she could not. It would continue whether she willed it or not. She had no control over her own body. The only way to end the ordeal was through delivery or death, and the latter was unthinkable, even if the life of her and Eomer's child had not been at stake.

In a way, she supposed, it was good that she had no option to go back or even stay where she was, because otherwise she would have been pregnant for the rest of her life. She realized

now how much it must have meant to her sisters-by-law to have other women, family, nearby, comforting, reassuring and distracting them through the long business of labor. _Or maybe I am just weak_, she thought.

She groaned again and forced herself to breathe. Her abdominal muscles hurt so badly that she thought she would be sick again, only there was nothing remaining in her stomach. _How much longer_? she wondered desperately, and aloud, gasped, "May I have some water, please?"

Aeryn brought her a mug and helped support her so she would not choke; Lothiriel had to wait until the contraction subsided to be able to swallow. The cool water felt wonderful against her mouth, which was dry from anguish and fear. "How-- much longer?" she asked the midwife, knowing it was probably a fruitless question.

And she was right. "Soon," Aeryn said, in a voice meant to be soothing, but it did not reassure Lothiriel."Soon" could be minutes or hours. When the thought of labor had kept her awake at night, it had not been the pain that had been most frightening-- for she had felt worse before-- but the interminability. _Soon, please, I do not know how much longer I can do this_.

She wanted Eomer; wanted him desperately. If he told her it would be all right, she would believe him, and his strength would comfort her and make her strong, too; but she knew seeing her pain would hurt him. So she did not call.

The pain eased as much as it was going to, and she took a few slow, thankful breaths. The time between contractions was short now, and they were so strong that the relief from them almost brought tears to her eyes. Able to focus on her surroundings again, she saw Brinweld murmur something to Aeryn and hand her a folded piece of parchment; then the midwife left, closing the door firmly behind her. More herbs? Lothiriel did not know how much the two healers had given her, but it felt like she had swallowed enough tea to float Amrothos's cutter.

_Amrothos_. Where was he, and did he know that his sister was in labor? Undoubtedly not; though it seemed like days, it had only been hours since the contractions had started, not nearly enough time for a messenger to make the three-day journey under the mountains to Dol Amroth. And there was no point in sending a courier until she actually gave birth, anyway; but she would make sure that the news went to her family as soon as possible. The fanciful thought crossed her mind that if Amrothos knew how she was feeling, he would want to take a sword to Eomer; but no. Childbirth was part of every woman's life, and it was her duty as queen. Lothiriel understood that, and so did her family.

The pain returned abruptly, and she bit down on her tongue to prevent her treacherous mouth from calling for Eomer. _Bad enough that I have to go through this_, she told herself. _He does not need to experience it too, and be hurt by it_. And his guilt and empathy would hurt her, too, and they would be stuck in an unconstructive cycle that would only make her feel worse. And the last thing she needed was more pain, whether physical or emotional.

But, oh, how she wanted him there...

She realized that her vision was going dark, and let out the breath she'd unconsciously held, forcing herself to inhale and exhale through the pain. _I always thought that men were the brave, valiant warriors_, she thought. But now she was not so sure; after all, if there was peace, they could do without the courage and strength of warriors, but so long as they wished the human race to continue, they could not do without the courage and strength of mothers. _But I do not feel brave or strong_.

Brinweld caught her eye. "I need to examine your birth canal to see if it is time for you to push, milady," he said. She nodded. "It may hurt." Then she realized what he meant, and all her inner muscles instinctively tensed as he plunged his hands into the hot water, scrubbed them with soap, and rubbed clean boiled lard up to his elbows. She tried to force herself to relax. _It can't be that much worse, it will be over quickly_-- He did not give her time to work herself into an anxious state, and as she took a breath to brace against the expected searing pain, all she felt was the urge to wriggle away. Lothiriel inhaled and exhaled, forcing herself to remain still, and then Brinweld was done and scrubbing his hands again.

He nodded to her. "When you next feel the urge to push, do."

_Finally!_ she thought, feeling a swell of relief that the end was now, perhaps, in sight. But the hardest work was still ahead of her-- and then another contraction seized her, and she bore down as hard as she could, and felt something _move_ deep within her, and gasped for air when she realized she'd stopped breathing.

Dimly she heard the door open, and reached for the blankets to try to cover herself when she realized that Aeryn had not returned alone, but then the contraction reached its peak and all she could do was hold onto the bedclothes, nearly tearing them as every muscle in her body seemed to tense.

When Lothiriel's vision cleared, she saw Lady Celgwyn standing by her side, her face concerned and sympathetic. "Give me your hands, Your Highness," she said. "It will be all right." And Lothiriel knew she should have felt ashamed at being seen half-naked and bloody by her senior attendant, but she no longer cared; all she felt was relief as she put her hands in Lady Celgwyn's weathered ones, for she suddenly realized that Eomer was not the only person she trusted to tell her the truth.

Another contraction, but this time everything was different, for now she was making progress; now she felt some measure control again. She barely noticed the pain at the euphoria of feeling the mass inside her slip downward another inch before her abdominal muscles unseized and she lay gasping. "I am glad-- you are here," she told Lady Celgwyn, and Lady Celgwyn smoothed Lothiriel's tangled hair back from her forehead.

"You should not have had to go through this alone. You must have been terrified."

"Yes," Lothiriel admitted. "I thought it would never end."

"Every mother feels that at some point," Lady Celgwyn told her. "But it will be over soon." She took a basin and cloth from Aeryn and gently wiped Lothiriel's forehead. "Why did you not call for someone, Your Highness? Is it the custom in Gondor to give birth alone?"

"No, but--" Lothiriel said, and paused. "In our family, at least, my sisters-by-law always went through labor surrounded by their female relatives." She closed her eyes briefly.

"Ah," Lady Celgwyn said, and Lothiriel looked up to see understanding in her eyes. "We have that custom too, Your Highness. But a woman's female friends may also stand by her."

"Thank you," Lothiriel whispered, and then her womb contracted again, and talking was impossible.

Whether it was because Lady Celgwyn was there, or because she was actually accomplishing something, the labor seemed to go more quickly as she pushed with all her strength, fighting to give birth to her child. Lothiriel felt remorseful about crushing Lady Celgwyn's hands so badly, but her attendant-- friend-- never said a word of objection, only kept murmuring encouragement.

But as the progress Lothiriel was making increased, so did the pain she felt as the baby began to stretch her birth canal. She concentrated on not crying out to get her through the contractions, but the pain did not fade when they ended. "It-- hurts," she gasped out.

"Try to relax, milady," Brinweld said. "If you are tense it will only hurt worse." She tried her best to follow his instruction, and breathed a little easier when the pain did indeed fade-- though not by much.

"The pain is always worst at the end," Lady Celgwyn said. "It won't be long now."

Lothiriel realized that she had been standing for some minutes, and said, "Do you-- want a chair to be brought? I do not want you to be tired."

A dry smile flitted across Lady Celgwyn's face. "I do not believe I will complain of being tired, milady."

Lothiriel nodded, and then thought back to what Lady Celgwyn had said before. "Elphir's wife--"she said, her breath coming in short pants-- "was pushing for almost two hours-- with her first child."

Lady Celgwyn shook her head. "It won't take you two hours, milady. Trust me."

Lothiriel knew she was making real headway now, and she was impatient to be done, to have it _over_ with. But her strength was giving out after hours and hours of labor, and she fought fatigue each time to convince herself to go on. Lady Celgwyn had to keep reminding her to breathe as she put all her effort into pushing, each time feeling the child move a little farther forward. She wanted it to be out; it was tantalizing to be so close and yet have to wait, her midsection seething with pain. "It is a stubborn child," she panted.

Lady Celgwyn shook her head. "You're going very fast, milady. He-- she-- wants to get out as much as you want him out."

It did not feel fast to her, and she was desperate to give birth before her strength vanished altogether. Did women ever pass out during labor? She'd never heard of it, but when a body was pushed beyond all endurance, eventually it simply quit. She had to finish this, though she just wanted to be motionless. Lothiriel gathered her strength for the next contraction, but Lady Celgwyn shook her head again.

"Wait this one out, milady," she said. "Rest a moment. There's time."

And she was right, for the relief from not pushing gave Lothiriel a chance to catch her breath, and she felt renewed vigor seep back into her tired, bruised, strained muscles. But the pain--

"What are you going to call it?" Lady Celgwyn asked.

"I don't know," Lothiriel gasped, grateful for the distraction. "I never asked the king-- what he--"

"I see the head, milady!" Brinweld said, and obediently she pushed, but suddenly it hurt so badly that she thought the child was ripping out her insides, her very life, as it entered the world. A cracked voice that could not possibly have been hers cried, "Stop!" and she felt something shove out between her legs, and she did not wait for the next contraction, but bore down until her vision darkened.

And then she felt the baby slip the rest of the way out of her, and it was over.

She lay absolutely motionless, and very far off an infant cried. Cool hands moved over her forehead and wrist, and Lady Celgwyn said, "Your Highness?"

"I'm here," Lothiriel whispered, taking a shuddering breath and letting it out in a rush, and it was seconds before she had the strength to draw another.

And then her eyes flew open as another contraction seized her womb. _Not twins!_ she thought, and her hands found Lady Celgwyn's and tightened convulsively. But Lady Celgwyn reassured her. "It will take your body a moment to adjust, is all," she said. "And there is still the afterbirth to come out."

The baby cried again, and it took her a minute to realize that it was _her_ baby crying, the child she had just delivered. Hers, of her own body. She watched as Brinweld gently wiped the slime and the blood from its skin. "A son, milady," he said, his face breaking into a rare smile. "An heir for the Mark!"

"Son," she whispered. "My son." The words seemed alien in her mouth, and she pinched herself to make sure this was not some waking dream.

Aeryn took the baby from Brinweld and held it out to her, and Lady Celgwyn helped her to sit up a little. Lothiriel took it, her arms shaking with the effort, and stared at it blankly-- _What do I do with _this? But then he started crying, bawling, and she realized that the birth had been as traumatic for him as for her. "Shhh," she whispered. "It's all right. You're out now. Shhh." She stared at him, and then closed her eyes, and a few hot tears dropped onto his head as emotion overwhelmed her. "Send for Eomer," she said when she could speak again. "Let him see his son."

But Lady Celgwyn said, "You do not want him to see you like this, milady. It will only alarm him." Lothiriel realized she was right, and sat quietly, bonelessly exhausted, stroking her son's hair, too relieved for words. More contractions expelled the afterbirth, and her abused abdomen protested, but she barely noticed; she only noticed her son in her arms, and felt a deep, profound sense of wonder-- joy-- love.

Brinweld gently wiped the blood from her body, and Aeryn, with difficulty, eased the soiled pads out from under her and replaced them with fresh, bundling the old ones in the corner so the brown and scarlet bloodstains spattered across them did not show. Lady Celgwyn brought her a fresh garment, and bathed her face with a soft cloth dipped in rosemary-scented water. Then she undid the tangled remnants of Lothiriel's braid, combed her hair with such skill that Lothiriel felt no pulling, and rebraided it. At this treatment Lothiriel felt her eyelids droop, almost to sleep; her midsection ached, but after the terrible straining tugs of labor, the pain seemed so little as to be negligible.

Brinweld and Aeryn scrubbed their hands and arms thoroughly, and Lady Celgwyn brought her a mug of the tea that had been simmering on the fire, and took the baby from her so she could drink; Lothiriel was surprised at the stab of reluctance that she felt at letting him go. The tea tasted of comfrey and locust weed and willow and catmint, and something else aromatic and warm that she could not identify. Then she was done, and held out her arms for her son again. He whimpered and nuzzled her breast, and she tried to guide his mouth so he could suckle if he wished to, but he turned his head away, his tiny lips clamped shut.

"It's alright, milady," Lady Celgwyn said beside her. "He'll get the hang of it soon enough."

Lothiriel did not want to think of her son going hungry, but she acquiesced to the older woman's wisdom. "He's so... complete," she said quietly, spreading the delicate fingers apart and marveling that even the nails were well-formed. _All this happened inside of me_, she thought in wonder. _What power has evil when such miracles can occur?_

"How do you feel, milady?" Lady Celgwyn asked, perching carefully on the edge of the bed now that it was clean.

Lothiriel started to reply, then shook her head. "I could not complain of the pain without being ungrateful," she said. "I am just glad it is over." She felt tears rise in her eyes again, and stroked her son's hair protectively. "How can you grow so attached to something so quickly?" she asked quietly, mostly to herself. "He is only minutes old, and yet..."

But Lady Celgwyn heard, and smiled. "It's the way of things, milady. They cause us so much pain, and we cannot help but love them anyway."

Lothiriel nodded, for she could not disagree with either the pain or the love. Then she looked up again. "Thank you for coming to stand with me," she said quietly. "I do not think I could have done it otherwise."

"You would have," Lady Celgwyn said, and the conviction in her voice humbled Lothiriel. "But I am glad to have been of help." She looked at the baby. "An heir will be a great thing for the people. It will give them hope."

"Yes," Lothiriel agreed, and then lay back against the pillows, completely exhausted.

-

By early afternoon, Eomer had allowed Elfhelm to convince him to sit down and eat, distracting him briefly, though he noticed nothing of the taste or texture of his food. Then, about three hours after midday, there was a knock on the door, and Eomer's head snapped up as a servant stepped inside. "Any news?" he asked, his heart pounding.

The man smiled broadly. "You have a son, Sire," he said.

Eomer did not think he had ever gotten from the council chamber to his rooms so quickly; in the solar he caught up with Brinweld, who was returning with a fresh bag of herbs. "A healthy son," the healer assured him.

"How is Lothiriel?" Eomer asked, and the world seemed to turn on Brinweld's answer.

"She is exhausted and in pain, but will be fine," the other man said. "I do not think she would agree, but as births go it was quick. Though she could not walk for very long, which made it difficult for her."

"What about childbed fever?"

"We take care to make sure everything is clean," he said. "She will be fine. Come see your son, milord." He opened the door for Eomer and then followed him inside.

There were other people in the room, but Eomer only had eyes for Lothiriel, sitting propped against the pillows. Her skin was bruised where it was not pale, and the hollows under her eyes were deep, but she looked almost serene as she cradled a tiny, squirming infant. He went to her side and she looked up and smiled, and held out the wrapped bundle. "Is he not beautiful?" she asked.

Eomer looked down doubtfully at the child in his arms. The baby was red and wrinkled, nearly bald, its head bruised and distorted from birth. It was definitely not beautiful. Yet Lothiriel had been in labor for hours, and he did not want to insult the product of her pain and effort. Then he looked up and saw the tiny smile on her face, and realized she was teasing him.

He laughed ecstatically. "He is wonderful," he said, absolutely truthfully. Then his son opened his eyes, and Eomer caught his breath: the child had inherited his mother's big, luminous grey eyes. He looked back and forth from mother to son for a moment, struck by the similarity.

_Mother_, he thought in wonder. _She is a mother. And I am a father. This is our child. Our son_. He could do nothing but stare for a moment, and then lifted a hand to gently stroke the tiny forehead with one broad thumb. "He is wonderful," he said again, his voice quiet. Then, after another moment of fascination: "I never really thought about being a father. That is, I did, but..."

Lothiriel knew what he meant. "Nor did I," she said. "Not in any way that meant anything. But we will do the best we can."

"Yes," he agreed, and realized the full import of our words. _He is our responsibility. We must raise him, she and I, and nurture him, and teach him right from wrong, and see him grow to manhood._ He looked down at his son. "Yes."

Eomer handed their child back to Lothiriel, trailing his hand along the baby's forehead, reluctant to let go of him completely. "Are you in very much pain?" he asked quietly.

"Some," she said. He could not tell if she was being completely honest. "But Brinweld gave me medicine to ease it. It is not so bad."

He nodded, not happy that she had to be in any pain at all, but accepting that there was nothing he could do about it. "All Edoras will know by nightfall," he told her. "And messengers are ready to ride to Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith. Do you want to write to your family?"

She nodded, and he found quill, paper, and a block of wood for her to write on, taking their son again to free her arms. His heart ached to see how much the effort to write a few lines cost her. "You should rest," he said. "Do you want someone to take him?" He nodded to the baby he held.

"No!" Lothiriel blushed. "No," she said more quietly. "Unless you want him."

He shook his head, and handed their son back. "I would not deprive you. Rest well." They would have to talk about other things, like their son's name, and whether Lothiriel wanted a wet nurse, but he could see that she was completely exhausted. Their talk could wait, though he was loathe to leave his son so soon. He wanted to stay, and hold him, and watch over mother and child as they rested.

"Eomer," Lothiriel said softly, breaking his reverie, and he looked up at her. "Guard him well. I..." she closed her eyes briefly. "I do not know if I could do that again."

Her confession hurt his heart, knowing the pain she had gone through. "With my life," he promised. Eomer could not resist touching the child's head again. "It is a wonderful thing you have done," he said quietly. "All of Rohan will celebrate. And I--" he swallowed against the lump in his throat. "I-- do not know what to say. I cannot even find words. But I thank you."

Her eyes were already closing, but at this she smiled. "He is wonderful," she agreed.


	19. Chapter 19

It took a few seconds for Eomer to place the sound, and then he realized that Elfwine was crying lustily. Beside him, Lothiriel was completely still, her arms wrapped around her stomach and her legs drawn up towards her chest. He did not think she had even heard their son, which told him just how tired she was. Every other time Elfwine had cried, Lothiriel had been halfway across the room to the cradle before Eomer had more than raised his head from the pillows.

She had just fed him an hour ago, so Eomer didn't think Elfwine was hungry, just fussy. He pushed the covers off and went to his son, cradling him in his arms as he carried him into the solar. With a yawn, Eomer shut the door firmly behind them. The past two nights had been exhausting, though he knew Lothiriel was bearing the brunt of it, despite not being fully recovered from the birth. There was a wet nurse who slept in Meduseld for the express purpose of feeding the prince, but Eomer knew Lothiriel knew that, and would not ask her to consider it again unless they were both at the end of their ropes. Her love for Elfwine was readily apparent to anyone with eyes, and he would not ask her to give their son up, even for a little while, unless he had to.

Eomer stopped pacing and stared down at the child in his arms. Was he _envious_ of Elfwine? The thought made him consider for a long moment. _I am envious that he can make Lothiriel so happy, just by being there_, he thought finally. _But as long as she _is_ happy, does it matter much why?_

Elfwine shifted and started to cry in his arms, and Eomer looked down and smiled, though his eyes burned with weariness and he just wanted to sleep. "Shh," he soothed. "Shh. Don't fuss. Don't wake your mother." Eomer began to sing a song he remembered his own mother using to put him to sleep, long ago.

"I see one horse riding down the road

Ai, ai, ai, oh, my son tell me,

Where does one horse go down the road?"

Elfwine stopped crying and stared up at him, his eyes wide. Eomer rocked him back and forth and walked to the end of the room to look out over the darkened city.

"I see two horses riding down the road

Ai, ai, ai, oh, my son tell me,

Why do two horses go down the road?"

Elfwine stared out over the city too, his grey eyes wide. _I wish he and the city could both always have such peace_, Eomer thought. _I wish I could protect them from every harm._

"I see three horses riding down the road

Ai, ai, ai, oh, my son tell me,

When did three horses go down the road?"

He gently stroked his son's fuzzy head as Elfwine's eyes began to droop. Lothiriel always came into the solar to nurse, and she'd left a blanket folded on the window ledge; he wrapped it around both of them to keep Elfwine warm. _That_, Eomer thought, watching his son, _I am definitely jealous of_. He would have liked to go to sleep right then as well. Eomer yawned again, so widely that tears came to his eyes, and wondered why babies had to be nocturnal creatures. But there was no question that it was worth it, at least to him. The memory of Lothiriel's words two days before came to him. _I do not know if I can do this again_, she had said. Was it worth it to her as well? He thought of the look in her eyes when she held their son, and thought it was.

Finally, Elfwine slept again, and he carefully opened the door, not wanting to jar him awake. Eomer deposited him in the cradle without mishap, folding the blanket and placing it nearby for the next time Lothiriel needed it.

_Lothiriel_... He looked over at her, at how she had her entire body curled towards her abdomen, and frowned. On the hearth was a kettle of water, and he added some of the contents of the cloth bag next to it, and placed it in the glowing embers of the fire. After a few minutes he took it off again and poured the willowbark tea into an earthen mug. The warmth felt good against his cold fingers.

"Lothiriel," he whispered, going to her side. She didn't stir. "Lothiriel." Her slow, steady breathing was the only movement she made. For a moment he just studied her, as he would not have if she was awake. Eomer was reminded of the time in the early days of their marriage when he had come back from supper to see her sitting on the window ledge after her bath, unaware of his presence. As he had then, he thought she was beautiful. He gently touched her long, loose hair with one finger, but pulled his hand back when she shifted in her sleep.

Her body had straightened out a little as he made the tea, and the lines of pain on her face had eased, so he left the mug on her nightstand and went to his own side of the bed, smiling when he realized how much of the covers Lothiriel had wrapped around her. He didn't mind; she needed them more than he did, anyway.

_Sleep until morning, Elfwine_, he thought tiredly as he crawled under the thick, down-filled comforter. _It's only a few hours away. Please..._

-

_Eomer was right_, Lothiriel thought. _This is too much._

She was seated on the dais in the Great Hall of Meduseld, on a chair to the right of Eomer's throne, holding Elfwine as what seemed like every citizen in Edoras came to have a look at him. When Eomer had told her of his wish to let the people see their heir, she had wanted to be a part of it; he'd asked if she was strong enough, and she'd told him she was. But her stomach was throbbing fiercely and it took a lot of effort to keep a grimace of pain off of her face. She was starting to feel lightheaded, and knew she needed to lay down sooner or later, or she'd pass out. And what a picture that would make, quite contrary to the image of health and strength she'd hoped to present to her people.

_Her people... _Yes, the words were right.

Lothiriel glanced over at Eomer, wondering if he was perhaps thinking of ending this soon; she didn't know how to extricate herself gracefully. But he was deep in conversation with Elfhelm and some of the other council members, who had already seen Elfwine, almost as soon as he had been named.

It had been Eomer who had suggested the name. "He is a gift," he had said, and Lothiriel had agreed. "And I do not want the elves to be forgotten."

Lothiriel had agreed with that too, though she'd had a moment of regret for the ending of a long-held wish. _Stop being foolish_, she'd told herself. _The son of the king of Rohan cannot be named after the son of the former Steward of Gondor, no matter who his mother is_. She would just have to remember Boromir in other ways.

So their son had been called Elfwine, and there had been feasting and celebrations in honor of his birth. She had been too weak to attend any of it, spending the time resting and being with Elfwine. Lothiriel counted no time as lost when it was spent with her son; she still marveled over him. Judging by the smile on Eomer's face whenever he held him, he felt the same way. She still held to what she'd told Eomer, that she didn't know she could have another child, and the thought of doing so made her shiver; but the happiness of everyone around her went a long way towards easing the painful memories. Elfwine was a gift, indeed.

As if he read her thoughts, Eomer looked over at her, and his keen glance made her suspect that he knew how she was feeling. He frowned, and glanced out over the crowd.

"A strong, beautiful boy." Lothiriel's attention snapped back to the people in front of her, and the woman who now rested her fingers on Elfwine's forehead. "Even if he is half-Gondorian," she added, and vanished into the press of people behind her.

Lothiriel's eyes widened, and then she made herself relax, hoping that Eomer hadn't overheard that remark. She was too tired to be very upset, but the insult rankled, more that they would judge Elfwine by his mother's heritage than on her own behalf.

"A strong, beautiful boy, and all the more so for being half-Gondorian." The warm, quiet voice made her look up again to meet a pair of piercing blue eyes in a wrinkled face. "Some people lack the sense they were born with." Lothiriel felt her face soften into a smile at the woman's pronouncement. "We don't have eyes like yours and his very much in the Mark," the woman added. "More's our loss, I'm thinking." She, too, rested her fingers on Elfwine's forehead, but in benediction, not inspection. "Peace, Your Highness," she said, and was gone.

"Lothiriel." The king's quiet voice caught her attention as he leaned over to her. "Elfhelm has gone to clear the crowd."

She looked out over the people, who had all left their homes and their livelihoods to come see the first infant heir in forty years, and suddenly did not feel so bad. "I don't want to disappoint them."

"Most of them will be leaving for the midday meal anyway," he explained. "And I can come back with Elfwine in the afternoon." After a moment's thought, Lothiriel nodded acceptance, and he stood and offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

A murmur of disappointment ran through the crowd, but as their monarchs stood the people bowed. Eomer nodded and she did the same, trying to hide how hard she was gripping Eomer's arm for support. Her head swam, and she was glad they were going.

As soon as they were past the curtain at the end of the dais, Eomer shifted his arm to her waist and took her free arm with his other. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," Lothiriel assured him. "I'm just a little dizzy." Still, she leaned heavily on him, and knew he could feel her trembling.

"You should have said something. We could have left earlier."

"They'd waited so long to see him," she murmured. "I know what an heir means to them."

But Eomer shook his head. "Don't let duty make you overexert yourself, Lothiriel. It's not worth it." She could hear the concern in his voice.

"I haven't," she said. "I just need to lay down for a little while." It was ironic to hear him speak of moderation in duty when he was the one who would stay up all hours working through stacks of papers. After the first night, her quiet insistence on helping him had moderated his habits, and they'd stopped altogether after Elfwine's birth, for which she was thankful.

"Will Elfwine keep you up?" Eomer asked when they reached their rooms.

She shook her head. "I don't think I'll sleep. I just need to lay down."

He made sure she got to the bed, then took Elfwine and put him in the cradle. "You will take care of yourself, won't you?" he asked, his eyes intent on her.

She smiled a little. "I will," she promised.

-

The sound of quiet voices woke Lothiriel sometime later, and she blinked a few times, got out of bed, smoothed her dress, and went to see who it was. In the solar, a maid was telling Lady Eambreth that she thought the queen was asleep. "I will tell her you were here, milady," the woman said. "But--"

Lady Eambreth looked up and smiled. "Your Highness!"

The maid turned, too, and blushed. "Forgive me, I didn't know you were awake."

Lothiriel shook her head. "It's all right, I wasn't." The maid curtsied, and slipped out the door. "It's good to see you, Lady Eambreth."

"It's good to see you, too, Your Highness," Lady Eambreth said. "How are you?"

"A little tired," Lothiriel admitted. "But happy. Would you like to see Elfwine?"

Lady Eambreth smiled. "I would love to."

Lothiriel felt a surge of pride as she laid the tiny, wrapped bundle in Lady Eambreth's arms. "He's beautiful," the other woman said, brushing back the blanket to see blonde fuzz. "Your son will be a heartbreaker when he grows up, milady."

"I hope not," Lothiriel murmured. "There's enough sorrow in the world."

"Well, he will surely have girls flocking to him, then," Lady Eambreth said. "With these eyes."

Lady Eambreth continued to admire Elfwine as they sat and talked of the orphanage. "Anfrum's foster child looks as healthy as its milk-brother now," Lady Eambreth said. "They cry at night if they are not put in the same cradle. I'm afraid they'll run her ragged, but she won't let them be separated." She gently turned over Elfwine's tiny hand. "I think it's good for her, too, milady. She doesn't cry so much in the night now, either."

"Poor Anfrum," Lothiriel said softly. "It takes strength to overcome something like that." She shook her head. "I don't know if I could do it."

"Of course you could," Lady Eambreth said firmly. "But, milady, you will never have to."

"How is Leofwine?" Lothiriel asked a few moments later. She always delighted in the radiant smile this drew, and this time was no exception.

"Very well, Your Highness," Lady Eambreth said. Her eyes grew distant, and the smile softened. "We have decided to try our handfasting in the spring." She looked down at Elfwine and blushed a little. "Maybe this time next year I will have a child of my own."

Lothiriel could not help laughing. "You have two hundred, Lady Eambreth," she said by way of explanation. "And you want more?"

"Well," Lady Eambreth said with a straight face, "One more will hardly make a difference, then, will it?"

-

Lothiriel stifled a groan of dismay as Elfwine's high-pitched cry woke her. By the level of the fire, she'd been asleep for an hour or so, but it seemed like it had been only a few moments since she'd last climbed out of the warm, soft bed, picked up her son, and taken him into the solar to nurse him; as she did it again, she felt a strange sense of familiarity, as if she had only imagined going back to bed.

She shut the door behind her quietly. Sometimes now she stayed in the bedchamber to nurse, but in the solar she didn't have to worry about waking Eomer. "Don't choke, little one," Lothiriel whispered as her son sucked greedily, amused at the speed with which he swallowed. "I'm not going anywhere." On the other hand, the sooner he was satisfied, the sooner she could go back to sleep.

Lothiriel shivered and drew the blanket more closely over her exposed chest. Elfwine stopped suckling and she shifted arms, guiding him to her other breast, but he turned his head away and whimpered. To keep him from crying, she started to sing softly, an old elvish tune from Dol Amroth about the sea and the sky. _Maybe I will teach him Sindarin as he gets older_, she thought, looking down at her son. _The elves should not be forgotten_. It might be confusing for him to know three tongues, but she-- and Eomer, she recalled, for his mother had taught him her mother's second language-- managed well enough.

Finally Elfwine nursed again, and she stroked his head as she continued to hum, wincing as his mouth found a tender spot. She'd have to remember in the morning to ask Brinweld or Aeryn for some salve that would not put Elfwine off of suckling or hurt him if he swallowed it. Her stomach ached, too; the pains had gotten worse in the past day, not better, though they were still dull.

Elfwine finished, his eyes drooping in sleep, and she covered herself again before carrying him through the bedchamber and into the privy to change his napkin. The maids often did it if they were present, insisting such a task was beneath the queen's dignity, but Lothiriel had plenty of experience from helping her sisters care for their children. It was the part of motherhood, besides pregnancy and delivery, that she was least reluctant to yield to someone else.

Fortunately Elfwine didn't wake again, and she was able to put him back in his cradle without any trouble, drawing the covers up over him and carefully tucking them in. _Sleep until morning_, she thought tiredly, smoothing his hair. _It's not long. Please..._

-

Elfwine did not sleep until morning that night, nor the next or the next, and by then Lothiriel was so tired that she fell asleep in the armchair in the solar, the cradle by her side, while reading a letter from Elphir. She'd not heard from her family since writing them to tell them about the birth, but expected a courier that day or the next; when it arrived, she intended to have a reply ready to Elphir's letter. He'd sent it about a week before, and it had arrived the day of the birth and been promptly misplaced in the confusion. She'd only found it that morning.

But her intentions were overthrown when she nodded off while perusing it, and slept until a knock on the door woke her. This time there was no maid; she opened it herself to find Lady Celgwyn on the other side.

"Good morning," Lothiriel said, stepping back to let her in.

"I believe it's afternoon, Your Highness," Lady Celgwyn replied with a small smile, and Lothiriel looked at the shadows of the sun. It was indeed afternoon, and she was embarrassed that she had slept so long and surprised that Elfwine had let her. "You had not been seen out since the birth," she explained, "except for the one morning, and we all wondered how you were."

"I'm well," Lothiriel assured her, and then blushed as she stifled a yawn. "Though I will not be much fit for polite society until I am less tired."

Lady Celgwyn's smile turned wry. "I remember those days well. They will last for weeks," she warned. "You have a wet nurse, don't you?"

"Yes, but I'd rather keep Elfwine with me, at least for now." At the flicker of expression that crossed Lady Celgwyn's face, Lothiriel frowned. "I'm not going to be accused of coddling him, am I? Of turning him into a soft Gondorian?" The last two words came out resentful, and she realized that the words of the woman that day in the Great Hall had rankled more than she'd thought.

Lady Celgwyn's mild look made Lothiriel regret speaking. "I don't believe the Gondorians care for their children any more than we do, Your Highness," she said. Before Lothiriel could formulate an apology, her attendant continued. "I know you meant no offense, and I took none. If people say things like that to you, you shouldn't let them bother you."

"I didn't think I was," Lothiriel murmured.

"No one will see you as soft for wanting to nurse Elfwine yourself," Lady Celgwyn assured her. "Perhaps the opposite, even. Every woman who has ever raised a child remembers what it is like to get up to feed it every two hours."

"I am not likely to forget," Lothiriel agreed.

"Do you feel all right otherwise, Your Highness?" Lady Celgwyn asked. Her keen glance reminded Lothiriel that she had been present at Elfwine's birth, and knew very well the pain Lothiriel had gone through.

"I am well," Lothiriel said again. "Though my... I believe my milk has come in. It is a little painful." Her breasts were swollen and tender, and she winced every time Elfwine started to nurse, or she brushed them against something; her stomach pains had gotten stronger, too.

Lady Celgwyn furrowed her brows. "If it were summer, you could use cabbage leaves," she said.

Lothiriel blinked. "Cabbage leaves?"

"Yes, they soothe the pain very well. Have you tried cold compresses?"

Lothiriel shook her head. "I hadn't thought of it."

"And warm ones for your stomach. That should help."

"Thank you," Lothiriel said gratefully. "I'll have to try that."

Shortly after, a maid brought tea, and Lady Celgwyn shared the news from around Edoras. "Lady Cynwyn's daughter is out of danger now," she said. "She had a fever while you were laid up, and Brinweld spent a night and a day fighting for her life."

"A fever?" Lothiriel repeated, thinking immediately of the orphanage.

But Lady Celgwyn shook her head. "Not the catching kind," she said. "She fell in a water trough and took a chill, is all." She took a drink of her tea. "The orphanage may be complete in a week's time, if the weather holds. There are men working on it every day."

"Oh, how lovely," Lothiriel murmured. "I've promised to bring Elfwine so the children can see him. That would be just the occasion."

"It will be chaotic, trying to get two hundred children settled in," Lady Celgwyn said. "But Lady Eambreth is up to the task."

"She is," Lothiriel agreed with a smile. "She is wonderful at it."

"It is good to see her so happy," Lady Celgwyn noted. "And with Leofwine. He is a good man."

"Lady Celgwyn, how did she ever come to be married to Freca?" Lothiriel asked. "Surely not by choice?"

"Her father encouraged her," Lady Celgwyn said at last. "He was sick, and wanted to know that his daughter would be taken care of after his death. And Freca was not the best of men, but no one thought he would beat her."

"She should have had another option," Lothiriel said quietly.

"She does now," Lady Celgwyn reminded her. "And it is not a common thing, Your Highness. Had her father's wits not been wandering in his sickness, I doubt he would have pressured her so much."

"Still," Lothiriel murmured. "I wish there were a way to prevent something similar from happening again."

"What happened to Freca will deter those who would otherwise be cruel enough," Lady Celgwyn said. "And, Your Highness, it is not a common thing. If a woman's neighbors or family suspect she is being beaten, they will confront her husband. But Lady Eambreth had no family, and her neighbors did not know her well."

Lothiriel shook her head slowly. "It's just that I know there are others somewhere," she said finally, "and it hurts to think of it."

"Fight one battle at a time, Your Highness," Lady Celgwyn advised her. "You are doing good here in Edoras. Do not discount that."

-

Once again, Lothiriel was woken by the sound of a baby crying. She was used to it by now, but for some reason this time it was more jarring than usual. _Maybe Eomer and Lady Celgwyn are right about the wet nurse_.

She sighed softly, and reached for the covers, but Eomer was also awake, and stood. "Stay, I'll get him."

Lothiriel was too grateful to object, and watched as he padded across the room to lift Elfwine gently out of the cradle. Eomer's large hands almost dwarfed his son, and Lothiriel found herself wondering if Elfwine would be broad-shouldered like his father or slender like his mother. _Will he have my flat feet?_ she wondered, and suppressed a hysterical urge to giggle.

Eomer brought Elfwine to her and then sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the fire, obviously intending to take Elfwine back when he had nursed. Lothiriel was too bone-weary to feel reticent about opening her robe in front of him, and simply leaned back into the pillows and let Elfwine suckle contentedly, wincing a little until the discomfort diminished.

She'd nearly fallen asleep when Elfwine finished with that side. Opening her eyes to shift him, she saw that Eomer was watching. Her instinctive reaction was startlement, and she forced down a hot blush, that felt as if it traveled down her neck to her chest, and the thought that that skin was exposed only made her cheeks hotter. But she trusted him better than that; he was watching Elfwine, not her.

Eomer held their son silently for a moment when she handed him back, just looking at him, and for a moment she felt left out, as if there was nothing in the world but the two of them. But then Eomer smiled at Elfwine, and looked up and smiled at her, and there was so much warmth in it that she felt herself smiling back, no longer alone. They were not two, whether Eomer and Elfwine or Lothiriel and Elfwine; they were three, a family.

- - -

A/N: Second revision as of 9:31 P.M. EST, 1/19/07. Sorry for the delay!

Eomer's lullaby is something I wrote. I have music to go with it that I'm trying to get on the 'Web. If I do, I'll post a link for anyone who wants it.


	20. Chapter 20

The loud rapping dragged Lothiriel from a deep sleep. She sat up quickly, dashed for the door and slipped through before the disturbance could come again, closing it firmly behind her and forcing the surprised man outside to back up a few steps.

"I came to bring Eomer King to council," he said.

Lothiriel forced her eyebrows to stay level. One did not _bring_ one's sovereign anywhere. "His Majesty is sleeping," she said in a low voice.

"Yes, Your Highness, I expected that," he said. She recognized him now as Helmbor, one of the king's council. "I came to wake him. If you'll excuse me."

He tried to step around her, but Lothiriel stood squarely in front of the door and met his look of irritated surprise with a level stare. "The king is very tired, Lord Helmbor," she said. "I can't allow you to wake him."

He favored her with a condescending smile. "That's very sweet of you, Your Highness, but I assure you Eomer King would prefer to be woken. He is a king. He understands that duty to his people comes before personal comfort."

Lothiriel couldn't believe they were having this conversation. Was he actually implying that _Eomer_ was lax in fulfilling his responsibilities as king? "I cannot see how two or three hours will gravely endanger the kingdom, Lord Helmbor," she said. "Eomer King was awake late tending to the Prince. Looking after infants is exhausting even to battle-hardened warriors."

The man's eyebrows snapped together, and he radiated disapproval. "But that is your duty, Your Highness," he said. "Surely you are not taxing the king with it!"

Lothiriel's eyes narrowed. "Eomer is Elfwine's _father_," she said, making no attempt now to conceal her anger. "And _he. Wished. To._" She enunciated the last three words very clearly.

Helmbor looked flustered, cleared his throat, and tried another tactic. "Your Highness," he said, in what he probably thought was a soothing tone, "Your care for your husband is truly touching and bespeaks a proper womanly appreciation of your duties as queen. But in a man's world it is different, Your Highness. We cannot always take the time to rest and eat. Even when our womenfolk wish us to." He smiled as if he'd made a joke he expected her to share.

Now Lothiriel did raise an eyebrow. "What, exactly, is the Council discussing that is so important you felt the need to invade your _sovereign's_ privacy at this hour?" The sun was shining through the windows of the solar, but it was still early.

Helmbor brandished a sheaf of papers as if this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. "The new treaties with Umbar must be signed, Your Highness. They--"

Lothiriel took the papers from him and inspected them. "These are not treaties," she said, trying to keep an accusing edge out of her voice. "They're trade agreements." She handed them back. "And furthermore the next courier for Gondor doesn't leave for two days. Surely Eomer King can find time to sign them before then."

Helmbor opened and closed his mouth several times. "Your Highness--"

"I will inform the king of what you have said when he wakes," Lothiriel told him. "But I really cannot allow you to wake him. Good day, Lord Helmbor." She stepped through the door behind her and closed it firmly and quietly, hoping he wouldn't be so foolhardy as to actually knock again.

-

Eomer lay listening quietly, trying to bite back a smile. He'd woken at the first knock, and would have gotten up had Lothiriel not been quicker. He'd started to go to his wife's rescue when it became apparent who was outside the door, but had shortly realized he wasn't sure which one needed rescuing more.

Again he remembered the warning Amrothos and Erchirion of Dol Amroth had given him at his wedding regarding their sister's temper. At the time, he hadn't known what to make of it, delivered with such solemnity; he hadn't believed the slender grey-eyed girl, smiling so quietly, could be capable of very great anger. So he'd thanked them sincerely and dismissed it as a brotherly desire to unsettle their sister's husband.

Outside, Lord Helmbor was accusing Lothiriel of taxing the king with the care of his own son; Eomer's eyes narrowed in unrealized parallel to Lothiriel's. He sat up and started searching for his tunic, but his wife's response caught the councilman flat-footed; storming out in kingly displeasure would really accomplish nothing at that point, so he laid back down.

A moment later the door opened and closed, and he feigned sleep. He suspected Lothiriel wouldn't appreciate knowing he'd overheard her conversation, though her angry defense had touched him. Eomer could almost feel sorry for Helmbor; the trade agreements with Umbar had been his pet project. But he had no right to speak to Lothiriel like that.

He quickly drifted back to sleep, knowing his wife had assured it would be uninterrupted.

-

Lothiriel hummed as she walked quickly through the stone corridors, just returned from visiting the orphanage again. It was a delight to see how well it was running; the children were learning to be happy and fearless. There were occasional-- or more than occasional-- hiccoughs, of course, such as the epic mudball battle between the older boys and the younger ones while Lady Eambreth was at Meduseld two days ago, and the mysterious escape of the orphanage geese in the dead of the night the week before. Edoras would be kept on its toes for a long time to come. But most of the mud had washed out, and the fowl had all been recaptured, and the perpetrators sent to bed early-- but not without supper. Lady Eambreth firmly asserted that no child in the orphanage would ever go to bed hungry.

"My lady?" Hergyth appeared from around a corner. "My lady, you have a visitor in the Great Hall."

"A visitor?" Lothiriel wrinkled her forehead and tried to think who it might be.

"Yes, my lady. Would you like me to bring him to the solar?"

Lothiriel shook her head. "No, I'll meet him there."

It was two weeks after Elfwine's birth, but she still reveled in her regained freedom of movement with every step she took. It was so _wonderful_ to be able to walk quickly and gracefully, without losing her breath or feeling as if she had a half-stone weight pulling down on her back. She loved Elfwine, but she was glad he was out of her body.

When she got to the Great Hall, her visitor was standing with his back to her, studying one of the tapestries. He was tall, dressed in clothes that retained their fineness despite being travelworn, and had an elegantly wrought sword belted on his right hip. Dark hair brushed the top of his back, and his boots were of an elvish design. Her eyes widened. "_Erchirion?_"

She was already running towards her brother as he turned around, and slowed when she got closer, but he pulled her into a hug and lifted her off the ground, spinning her around. "Put me down!" she laughed breathlessly. "I'm the queen of Rohan now, I must maintain some dignity."

Erchirion put her gently down. "Dignity?" he teased. "If they haven't discovered the truth after ten months, isn't it time to disillusion them?"

She smiled. "How are you?"

He smiled. "I'm well." He studied her carefully. "And you look well, too. Rohan agrees with you?" The smile didn't leave his face, but she sensed relief under his words.

"This is a wonderful surprise!" Lothiriel laughed for sheer joy. "I had no idea you were coming."

"I have to go to Minas Tirith, so I thought I'd go this way to see my sister and her new son," he explained.

"How is everyone at home? Tell me everything."

They sat down at the end of one of the long tables. "Father and Mother are well, though Father's hair has more white than it used to," he said. "The last year has been exhausting for him. Mother tries to get him to slow down. She lets him think she still needs care after the sea fever."

"And does she?" Lothiriel felt her heart beat faster. She knew she could read the truth on her brother's face as she could not from his letters.

"No," Erchirion said, firmly but kindly. "She's been recovered for months." Lothiriel felt herself relax, and he must have noticed, for his eyes were sympathetic. "Elphir and Anarial have their hands full with the twins," he went on. Lothiriel was thankful that trend did not come from her side of the family. "Amrothos has spent most of his time in Minas Tirith helping the king. Elessar says he is indispensable, and..." Erchirion hesitated. "I think he prefers being there to staying in Dol Amroth. In Minas Tirith they respect him; at home they pity him."

"And how is his leg?" Lothiriel asked hesitantly. Her mother was the only one she had dared write to on the subject, and Illiven had only said that it was healing.

"It is... better," Erchirion said. "Better," he repeated with more confidence. "Always better, slowly. He walks with less pain now."

"Does he still use a cane?"

"Yes. The healers think he always will."

"At least he can walk," she murmured. After the war, the healers had told Amrothos that he would always be chairbound, or at best dependent on crutches. And at least-- no, she thought, there was no least about it-- but he was lucky to be alive at all. Another foot higher and the troll would have ripped open his stomach as well as his leg.

"I think Tiriel is his strength," Erchirion observed. "When he insists on being strong for everyone else, she is strong for him." Lothiriel felt an inexplicable pang of envy as she realized he was right. When Amrothos had pushed them all away for a time after the war, his wife had been the only one able to push back hard enough to break through to him.

"How is Silme?" Lothiriel asked a moment later.

Erchirion could not stifle his smile. "She's-- we're-- to have another child."

Lothiriel was torn between joy for both of them and sympathy for Silme. But she already had a six-year-old daughter and a three-year-old son; she knew what she was letting herself in for. "That's wonderful," she said with a smile.

Erchirion took a swallow from the mug of ale a maid had given him. "And how was the birth?"

"It was... agonizing," she admitted. "But worth it." Another smile crossed her face at the thought of Elfwine. "Let me go get him, he's wonderful."

"Erchirion!" Both of them looked up as Eomer joined them. Erchirion stood, and the men clasped arms. "Welcome. It's good to see you again."

"And you, Eomer," Erchirion said. "Edoras looks nearly full. The rebuilding must be going well."

"Better than I'd hoped," Eomer admitted. "Many artisans have returned, and more families have come for the winter." The two men talked government for a few minutes, and then Eomer said, "I will leave you two to catch up and see you at supper." He nodded to them and was gone.

"Eomer looks... more content... than he did a year ago," Erchirion observed.

"Good," Lothiriel said softly. Then she got to her feet. "Let me show you Elfwine," she said, unable to keep a proud smile from her face.

-

Supper that night was a merry affair, with Erchirion seated on Lothiriel's right. Caught up as she was in talking with him, she did not pay much attention when a minstrel further down the tables, inspired by the presence of two of the renowned warriors of the War, began telling the tale of the ride of the Rohirrim on the Pelennor Fields.

Eomer bid her good night and retired when it became apparent she would be up late talking; slowly, the other people in the hall drifted away too, until only she and her brother were left. Finally Erchirion yawned broadly.

"I've kept you up too late," she apologized. "Aelgwyn will show you to a room." Of the maids, Aelgwyn was the one who had cast the fewest longing glances at her handsome, exotic brother, despite his repeated mentions of his wife.

Erchirion embraced her again. "It's good to see you, sister."

"It's good to see you too," she said, smiling up at him.

When she reached the royal quarters, she opened the door quietly, expecting Eomer to be asleep. Instead, he was by the window, holding Elfwine and staring out at the city. Lothiriel shut the door behind her softly. "Eomer?" she asked gently. He half-turned towards her. "Is something wrong?"

"The tale at supper tonight," he said finally.

"The ride of the Rohirrim?" He nodded. "Why?"

"I do not fear battle," Eomer said. "But I fear my battle fury." He looked down at his sleeping son. "I fear my temper will betray me, and he will lose his father for a foolish reason," he added quietly.

"You could not have ruled the Mark so well all these months if you were foolish," Lothiriel said, though her heart was unsettled, for she had heard her brothers' descriptions of Eomer's battle-wrath. "And there is peace now. You may not need to ride to war for many long years."

But Eomer turned to face her fully, his expression troubled. She frowned. "There are orcs in the north," he said heavily. "We will have to ride against them."

Lothiriel stared at him. "When?"

"Early spring." He met her gaze. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to alarm you."

She looked away. "How many men?" she asked quietly.

"An eored." Her emotions must have shown on her face, for he stepped towards her. "It will be all right," he said. "They're disorganized, which is why we're striking now, before they become more of a threat." Eomer watched her for a moment, then shook his head. "I shouldn't have marred your brother's visit with this news," he said. "Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive," she said softly. Then Elfwine started to cry, and she took him to nurse.

Even after he was fed, their son continued to fuss, and finally Lothiriel sat down on the bed with him. "Shh," she said. "I'll tell you the story of why swans are white." He still cried, but she went on, hoping her voice would soothe him. "Once upon a time, all the swans in the lands were black. Men prized them for their beautiful feathers, so they only came out at night, and it was considered a great feat to catch one."

"Then, one day a swan looked up and saw the rising of the moon, and thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. 'I will catch that thing,' he thought, and took wing after it. For seven days and seven nights he chased it, until finally he caught it."

Lothiriel looked down at Elfwine. He'd stopped crying, and his eyes were closed. On the other side of the bed, Eomer lay stretched out, also listening. "The victorious swan called for his kin to join them, and most of them came. But no sooner had they landed than the Valar saw them, and their wrath was great. 'Who dares to take the light of Telperion and Tilion from the world?' Manwe demanded, and the swans could make him no answer. It had been in their hearts only to take this beautiful object for themselves."

"So for their transgression, Manwe punished the swans by turning them the color of the moon, and making them walk about in the day, when their feathers could be easily stolen. And the few faithful swans who had resisted the call of their brother were allowed to remain black, but they were no longer hunted." She gently leaned down and kissed Elfwine's head. "And that is why swans are white."

"Why does Dol Amroth have a white swan on its banner, then?" Eomer murmured, his eyes closed.

"There's another story that tells how the swans won their redemption by saving Amroth, our first prince," she explained. "And for that he put them on his banner." She put Elfwine in his cradle, which now stood next to the bed, and went into the dressing room to change into her night things.

When she came out, she thought from his breathing that Eomer was still awake. "Eomer," she said, and he opened his eyes and looked up at her. She was startled at how vulnerable he seemed, his bright hair spread out on the pillow, his eyes clouded. "In the ten months of... of our marriage, I have never seen you lose your temper or do something foolish. Surely that counts for something?"

After a moment, he nodded. "Perhaps it does," he said. "Thank you."

-

The next day was unseasonably warm, and Lothiriel and Erchirion rode out for most of the morning, taking a picnic with them. She showed him the same spot Eomer had showed her so many months before, and they ate their meal there, looking out over Edoras.

"It's a beautiful city," Erchirion said. "Different from Dol Amroth, but still beautiful."

"It is," she agreed after a moment. "I suppose... it's the difference between golden dawn and dusky twilight."

He looked at her with keen, clear grey eyes. "Are you happy here?"

Lothiriel hesitated. "Most of the time," she answered finally.

Her brother's gaze was searching. "You were not at the beginning, were you?" he asked gently. Unable to deceive him, she lowered her eyes and slowly shook her head.

"At first... I was so homesick I thought my heart would break," she admitted softly.

He frowned. "Why did you not say anything?"

"What good would it have done?" she countered. "I would only have worried you all with something you could not fix."

"Did you tell Eomer?"

Lothiriel looked away. "He knew."

"Oh, little sister," Erchirion murmured. "Why did you take it upon yourself to be miserable?"

"I could not help it," she said, and her voice cracked.

"No," he said. "No, of course not. But you did not have to do it alone. We could have come to visit you."

"You were busy," she said.

"Very busy," he admitted, "but if we had known you were so homesick we would have made time."

"You made time to write to me, all of you. Even Lotwen."

"Mother meant to come for Elfwine's birth," Erchirion told her, "and Silme with her, but the road under the mountains has been blocked on and off for weeks, and then Silme found out she was pregnant again." He smiled. "And Father tried to get back to see you during summer, but there was the first harvest to bring in and see that it went where it was needed."

Lothiriel had not anticipated that her family had been trying to come to her for months. She had thought that being separated from them and seeing them rarely, every few years, was simply part of the choice she had made.

"Did you think we were going to abandon you completely?" he asked gently.

She shook her head. "No, of course not." But tears prickled in her eyes at the thought that all the time she had been so very homesick, her family had been trying to get to her. "Why did you not tell me? No one wrote a word of it."

"We did not want you to anticipate only to be disappointed," he said.

"I wish I'd known," she said softly. "It would have made it easier to bear."

"I'm sorry," Erchirion said. "I guess we didn't think about that." He smiled a little. "Then I'll tell you that Father and Mother are going to try to come as soon as the snows clear. They may not be able to make it, but Amrothos is set on coming."

"Can he make the journey?"

"It's no longer than the one from Dol Amroth to Minas Tirith. And he _will_ make it, whether he can or no."

Lothiriel nodded in acknowledgement of their brother's force of will, cheered by the thought of the coming visits. They sat quietly for a moment, each occupied with their own thoughts, before she said, "The flowers are beginning to bloom in Dol Amroth, aren't they?" Her voice was wistful.

Erchirion's eyes widened, and he reached into his tunic. "I was charged on my honor not to forget these." He opened his wallet and took out five small, white and purple crumpled flowers. "Lotwen sent these for you. The first she found."

"Oh," Lothiriel breathed, cupping them carefully in her palm and raising them to her face. She could still smell the faint, sweet fragrance. "You have a thoughtful daughter," she murmured. "Please thank her for me. Tell her they're wonderful." She sniffed the flowers again, then tucked them in her reticule to keep them safe.

"Shall we go back?" she asked after another moment. She still wanted to show Erchirion the orphanage, and she needed to feed Elfwine. The wet nurse, Aelfa, would have fed him during the morning, but her breasts were beginning to swell with milk.

Lothiriel picked up the dishes and put them back in the wicker basket as Erchirion shook out the blanket on which they had been sitting. "And what about Eomer?" he asked after a moment. Her back was to him, and she could not interpret his tone.

"He is... very kind to me," she said, realizing belatedly that her hand had stilled of its own accord. "I'm grateful to him for that. I..." Lothiriel shook her head, knowing she wasn't doing Eomer justice, but unable to put into words what she really meant.

"Ah," Erchirion said, and she still could not figure out what he intended with that monosyllable.

"I'm glad... I'm glad I'm with him," she added finally.

-

That night there were no war stories, and after supper someone called for dancing. The idea was echoed until the men joined together to push the long tables against the walls as the musicians present got out their instruments.

She danced the first, a sedate circle dance, with Eomer, and the second with Erchirion. By the time she danced with Elfhelm she was laughing, her cheeks warm with exertion. It had been months since she had done anything but glide steadily to slow music. In fact, it had been almost a year ago, at her farewell feast in Dol Amroth shortly before her marriage. But her heart had not been so light then as it was now.

Lady Eambreth danced a strathspey and several reels with Erchirion-- protecting him from the admiring Rohan women, Lothiriel noted with amusement-- as she danced with Leofwine and then with Eomer again. Faces glowed with perspiration and the Great Hall rung with the sounds of laughter and merriment, and she thought it had never seemed like a happier place.

Time passed swiftly, and she was surprised when the minstrels struck up the traditional ending dance, the fast, light spiral dance, so called because the tempo spiraled up with each round. Eomer was a good dancer, and they had no trouble moving through the first set of steps.

The music stepped up, and she danced faster, lifting her heels to avoid Eomer's feet. They spun left, and then right, threading through the other dancers. Some of the couples dropped out, laughing, as their steps fell out of rhythm with the music, and those who remained spread out to avoid running into each other.

The pitch increased again. Lothiriel's red skirts flared as she turned, a blaze of color against Eomer's dark breeches. Her hair started to come loose from its plait and hung in front of her eyes, obscuring her vision, and she tucked it behind her ear, hoping it would stay. Her face was flushed and her feet were aching, but she couldn't help smiling as she met Eomer's gaze. He smiled back, his eyes warm.

When the minstrels began playing the fourth round of the dance, she suddenly noticed that they were the only ones left; everyone else had dropped out and was now clapping along with the music, cheering them on. Her calves burned as she whirled through the steps, beginning to feel breathless. She danced between his feet and he danced between hers, and then they spun, the room blurring. Lothiriel caught a glimpse of Erchirion standing with Lady Celgwyn and Elfhelm, all three of them looking amused, before they whirled back to the center of the space.

She started to turn for the last flourish and nearly stumbled as instead the musicians played yet another increase in pitch. Eomer laughed. "Game, my lady?" he asked as the people called out. Lothiriel smiled her assent, too breathless to speak, and he grinned, looking suddenly boyish.

She'd never danced more than four rounds of a spiral dance, and the fifth was almost impossibly fast. Briefly she glimpsed the fiddlers, their eyes sparkling with merriment as their fingers flew over the strings, creating the difficult rhythm that drove their monarchs on. Eomer's warm hands on her waist kept her from falling as she rushed through the steps, not sure if she was even doing them correctly anymore; then the pipers played a low interlude, and he spun her out to dance on her own for a moment, connected to him only by their joined right hands. The music flared up again, and he pulled her back in as they spun into the last steps.

The song ended with a flourish and she slid to a stop, panting a little, as the people cheered and clapped their success. She looked up and met Eomer's gaze; his hands lingered on her waist, and there was a look in his eyes that she could not fathom. Then he looked away for a moment, and the intensity was gone as they turned to the crowned, Lothiriel curtsying as Eomer bowed. She caught sight of Erchirion; a small, mysterious smile hovered on his lips as he raised his tankard of ale to drink.

That night, as she lay in bed, her feet aching and her body pleasantly weary, she was lulled to sleep by the sound of a lone pipe floating through the cold, clear starry night.

- - -

A/N: Thanks to Deandra for her comments and feedback, and for pestering me to get this chapter done!

A stone is a unit of measure equal to about 14 pounds. In olden times, a wallet was a bag or container for holding provisions or papers.


	21. Chapter 21

The chamber was quiet in the chill before dawn. The only sounds were the soft crackling of the fire and the muted scratching of Eomer's pen. He had left off matters of state, and was writing to Eowyn.

But his thoughts kept drifting to another woman, and he looked up to watch Lothiriel sleep. He liked watching her sleep, liked seeing the peace on her face. Actually, he admitted, he just liked watching her in general. She was beautiful, but it wasn't that; it was so much more. He didn't know how to put it into words.

No, that wasn't true. He knew.

She smiled in her dreams, and he felt himself smiling in response. Sometimes he wondered if she know how much brighter her mere presence had made his life. Even when she was sad and he was doing his best to comfort her, he was no longer alone. And when she woke him from his troubled dreams, or helped him through long hours of letter-writing, or danced with him... His smile deepened at the memory of the dance, but even more precious was that moment afterwards when they had stood together in the center of the floor, oblivious to all else. He hadn't been able to look away; he been both transfixed by and drowning in her eyes, startled by a sudden revelation. He didn't know what he would have done if she hadn't looked away, and he hadn't had a peaceful night's sleep since.

As if she could read his thoughts, Lothiriel's eyes opened. He smiled, but she seemed confused, and her own smile faded. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I... dreamed I was in Dol Amroth, that's all." She looked at the fire, then out the window. "What time is it?"

"A little before dawn." Lothiriel pulled the covers up to her chin and turned on her side, and her hair fell across her face, obscuring her eyes. He couldn't tell whether she was watching him, or going back to sleep.

After a few minutes she sat up and came to join him at the table, propping her head on one slim hand. "Can I help with any of that?"

"No, I'm just writing to Eowyn," he said.

Still, she stayed, apparently content to bear him company as he worked. She rested her head on her arms, watching alternately the fire and his writing; if she'd been a cat, she would have batted at his pen.

Finally he said, "I'm not keeping you awake, am I?"

She shook her head. "I'm not tired."

Ten minutes later, he looked up and saw her sleeping.

"Lothiriel?" he said softly, and gently touched her shoulder. She didn't stir. _It really would be a shame to wake her_, he thought, and hesitated only a moment before putting down his pen and lifting her carefully from her chair.

"Mmm?" She didn't open her eyes.

"I thought you weren't tired," he said, trying not to laugh.

"Mmm," she said, and leaned her head against his chest.

Eomer put her gently down on the bed, pulling the covers over her. "Go back to sleep," he whispered. She curled on her side and quickly appropriated most of the bedclothes, hugging her pillow to her chest. _I _will not_ be jealous of a _pillow, Eomer thought, and went back to his letter.

- - -

_To think_, Lothiriel remembered with a smile, _I used to find them daunting_.

Lady Celgwyn had mentioned that her ladies were wondering when they would be called upon to weave again. Lothiriel had started to say that there was no need for them to do that, unless they really wished to, but her friend had added that most of her attendants had enjoyed the chance to gather and gossip while doing useful work. So Lothiriel had reinstated the morning sessions, though now they were in a large sunny room across the palace, that had once belonged to Lady Eowyn.

Lothiriel did not go every day; sometimes Hergyth needed to consult her about household matters. Sometimes she visited the orphanage, or was too weary to get up early, if Elfwine had kept her up the night before. Sometimes she simply chose to stay away, if she had letters to write, or if she wished to walk through Edoras.

But that day she was there and she had brought Elfwine, and the ladies were cooing over him in a way wholly at odds with her first remembered impression of them. So many strangers, most of them significantly older than her, smiling reservedly and expecting to be expected to attend her, had been intimidating. She'd gotten through that first encounter somehow, but for many months the morning weaving sessions had been ordeals to be endured. _Like so much else seemed_, she thought. _How foolish I was_. Now she counted the ladies among her friends, and they were clustered around her son, admiring him unabashedly. _How things have changed in a year_, Lothiriel mused, referring to more than her relationship with her ladies.

"What beautiful eyes," Lady Cynwyn said. "Just wait, Your Highness, before you know it he'll be talking and looking at you with those big eyes, and you'll find it hard-pressed to deny him anything."

"For about a day," Lady Celgwyn added drily.

Lothiriel laughed. "My niece has the same eyes. I promise you I'm immune."

"How old is your niece, Your Highness?" Lady Cynwyn asked.

"Six," Lothiriel said. She wondered how Lotwen had liked the Rohirric seeds Lothiriel had sent her by way of Erchirion. Had she planted them yet? "Her brother is three, and her twin cousins are nearly two."

"Your brother must have his hands full," Lady Aellith said.

"Oh, very much so," Lothiriel agreed. "Both of them do. On the other hand, he says ruling Dol Amroth will be easy after this." Lady Aellith smiled the wry smile of someone who agrees through experience.

Lady Herlith peered over Lady Cynwyn's shoulder. "Perhaps Elfwine will have a brother or sister, himself, before long." Lothiriel suddenly felt as if everyone was looking at her, and did not know where to look herself. She murmured something she hoped sounded both agreeable and noncommittal, and raised her eyes from the floor again. No one seemed to have taken much notice of the exchange, except for Lady Celgwyn, who looked as if she were trying not to say something sardonic.

Elfwine started to cry, and the ladies passed him to Lothiriel, who simultaneously yawned so widely that her eyes widened. When she brought her hand down from her mouth, she felt her face heat. "I beg your pardon," she murmured, and then realized that all the women were looking at her with amused sympathy. They laughed, and the lingering discomfort she felt at Lady Herlith's statement was dispelled.

The Great Hall was crowded that night, with a party of merchants just arrived from Minas Tirith as well as the families of some of the soldiers from the Westmark, who had braved the cold to be with their loved men for the rest of the winter. But Meduseld's kitchens were up to the task, serving creamy soup with chunks of golden winter potatoes, and large yellow wheels of sharp cheese, and soft, crusty brown bread. After the meal the minstrels took up their instruments, for singing and tale-telling this time instead of dancing, and Lothiriel discovered that she knew all the words to all the songs they played.

When they returned to their rooms Lothiriel took a bath and washed her hair, quickly by necessity, and when she got out, she noticed that Eomer was quiet. She wondered if it was just that he had more on his mind lately, or if she had become more attuned to picking up on his moods, or if he had become less guarded around her. "What's wrong?" she asked gently.

He didn't answer for a moment. "Just memory," he said finally. "I... am missing people, tonight." He sank down on the window ledge, staring south, and she wondered again what he saw in place of the darkened city.

_And there are so many for him to miss_... She went to stand behind him. "Is there some way I can help you?"

He shook his head. "It will pass."

She stayed there, keeping him silent company in his vigil, as she brushed her hair out. After a moment she noticed that he was looking at her rather than out the window. She was a little surprised, but if he took some comfort in watching her, she wasn't about to deprive him. She'd tilted her head back to comb all her hair together when she felt his hand smoothing back over her head, and then the gentle brush of fingers against her cheek. Startled, she looked down at him.

"There was a bit loose," he explained.

After a moment, she finished combing, and went into the other room to put on her nightdress and robe. When she came out, Eomer was holding their crying son, and held him out to her as she approached the cradle. She took him and began to nurse, and Eomer went back to the window ledge.

As Elfwine suckled, Lothiriel watched Eomer with concern. It had been a long time since he'd shut her out like this, not letting her share his worries, whether he was doing it intentionally or not. She went to stand behind him again, and when he looked up after several moments, his gaze a little lighter, he offered her a smile. She felt herself returning it instinctively. _When did his smile become so heartwarming?_ she thought, and offered Elfwine to him.

Perhaps it was the wistful look in Eomer's eyes as he held their son that prompted Lothiriel to say, "Tell me about your family."

He looked up. "What?"

"I told you of mine, the night you had the nightmare," she said, and immediately realized that that would not be an identifier for him: that could not have been the only night his dreams had troubled him. Lothiriel felt a stab of guilt for all the times she must have lain sleeping, oblivious as his memories tormented him. "If it would not pain you... would you tell me of yours?" She sat beside him on the window ledge.

"My father came from Aldburg," he said after a moment. "He met my mother when her horse ran away with her on the plain in front of Edoras, as he was coming in to report to the king." A smile tugged at his mouth. "Theodred once told this story to Eowyn. He said our mother could not take her eyes off of the tall, handsome Rider who had rescued her."

"And how did Theodred know the truth of it?" Lothiriel asked, smiling a little.

"He was there," Eomer said, then explained at her surprise. "My mother was much younger than her siblings. Uncle was forty-one when she married. Theodred was eleven." His eyes focused somewhere in the distance. "He said that when she moved to Aldburg, he refused to come out of his room for two days until his father forced him to. My mother had been like a mother to him, too." Eomer smiled a little. "I suppose it was appropriate, then, that his father was like a father to me... after mine died." The smile vanished.

"You said your mother liked roses," Lothiriel prompted gently, trying to guide his memories along happier paths. And it seemed to work, as he told her of his childhood in Aldburg and the pleasant times he remembered: of riding with his father for the first time to see the eored assembled, of watching his mother garden and weave as she sang in Sindarin, of taking an infant Eowyn for her first ride and returning to find his parents frantic.

His face sobered when he spoke of his parents' deaths, but there were happy times to recall from Meduseld, too: teaching Eowyn to wield a sword, receiving his own first sword from the King and carrying it in his service, and listening to Theodred, a master storyteller, spin tales of the elves. But finally he trailed off, and stared unseeingly out the window. It was not until the moon broke through the clouds and illuminated the tell-tale gleam on his face that Lothiriel realized he was crying silently.

She shifted closer to him and then put her hand on his shoulder, knowing words would be inadequate to communicate her compassion or sympathy. "They are all dead," he whispered. "Save Eowyn, and she is gone."

Hesitantly, Lothiriel brushed the tears from his face, her fingers trembling a little. With his free hand Eomer caught her wrist and turned it, gently kissing the palm of her hand, and though she recognized the gesture for what it was-- gratitude-- he must have mistaken her sudden stillness for tension, for he let go of her immediately.

Just then Elfwine began to squall again, and Eomer looked down at him. "He must need to be changed."

Lothiriel shook her head. "I didn't finish feeding him," she said, and gently lifted her son from his father's arms and put him to her other breast.

Eomer reached out to stroke his head. "I wish you could have met my mother," he said. "I think the two of you would have liked each other very much."

"She sounds like a very loving woman," Lothiriel said.

Eomer nodded. "She was. She would have been delighted to have grandchildren, too."

That's right, Lothiriel recalled, Eowyn and Faramir had had their first child shortly before Elfwine's birth. "And how is Finduilas?"

Eomer grinned. "Eowyn writes that if Faramir looked at any other woman the way he does their daughter, he'd be in serious trouble." Lothiriel smiled, and then covered her mouth as it turned into a gaping yawn.

"I've been doing that all day," she murmured, trying not to look longingly at the nice, soft, warm, inviting bed-- _stop that_. "I think you ought to change the training regimen for the new riders," she added.

"How so?"

"If they had any practice in caring for infants, they'd be able to get through the longest rides or the most pitched battles without getting tired."

Eomer laughed, and then became serious again. "It's not too much for you, is it?"

"No," she reassured him. "It's not. Women of Gondor are hardy," she added with a teasing grin.

"I believe it," he said, smiling at her. Once again, the smile disappeared. "I hope there may be no more pitched battles," he said softly.

"But you will have to go north to fight the orcs."

Eomer closed his eyes. "Yes."

Lothiriel shivered, and pulled her robe more closely around her. Her wet hair and exposed skin seemed to suck all the heat from her body, and she was glad when Elfwine finished suckling, and she could tie her robe shut again.

"Do you want me to take him?" Eomer asked.

She shook her head. The cold was more than physical; the specter of death had, for some reason, brushed them both this night. "I want to keep him near me. If you don't mind."

Eomer also shook his head, slowly. "I think," he said, "I would like that, as well."

So for the first time in many weeks, they slept, not together, but within short arm's length of each other, both unconsciously angled towards Elfwine between them, protecting him even in sleep.

- - -

Try as she might, Lothiriel could not get Lady Herlith's words out of her head. Did the Rohirrim expect her to be constantly pregnant? It was far too soon for her to even think of having another child; she would be nursing Elfwine for months, and her stomach muscles still ached occasionally. _I did not come here to be a brood mare_, she thought. _Surely they can give me some time._

Finally she concluded that no one else's opinion was relevant besides Eomer's, and went to find him before her courage failed. He was in their bedchamber, working on a stack of papers, and her heart sped up as she approached him.

"My lord," she said, and then corrected herself; she hadn't called him that in months. "Eomer."

He looked up and frowned in concern. "What's wrong?"

Were her emotions that apparent on her face? "Will you... you will want more children eventually?"

Eomer looked startled, but she did not miss the wistful expression that followed. "Yes," he admitted.

"I would... very much prefer that it... not be right away." She felt her face growing warm. "Not until Elfwine is a little older, and..."

"Yes, of course," Eomer agreed. He smiled tentatively. "I think we'd both die of exhaustion, and Brinweld would have my head."

She swallowed. This was harder. "If you wish, I will get lennis from him."

He stopped smiling as he realized what she meant. "I would never force myself on you--"

"No! I know that," she said hastily, and felt her cheeks flame. "I... am... I am... offering."

"Some things should not be offered," he said gently. "This is not your duty, Lothiriel."

"I would do it from..." Could her face get any hotter? "... from care for you." She could not meet his eyes.

"I am not a brute," he said softly, and when she looked she saw that he was staring down at his desk. "I would take no pleasure from it unless you did." He raised his eyes to hers. "And... I do not think you would." His voice and his gaze made it not quite of a statement, but she did not want to think about his unspoken query long enough to answer it.

"I did not mean to imply that you were a brute," she said instead.

"I know," he assured her. "And I thank you for the thought."

There was an awkward silence, and when she could tolerate it no more she smiled hesitantly. "I should go. I promised to see the gardens that the children at the orphanage have cultivated."

Eomer blinked. "Is there anything to see? Surely it's early yet for sprouts."

She felt her smile broaden into a genuine one. "No, not particularly," she admitted. "But I did promise."

He laughed. "You will make them happy."

"I hope so," she agreed, and turned to go.

His voice stopped her on the threshold. "Lothiriel."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked back at him. "Yes?"

"Do _you_ want more children?" he asked. "You are the one who will have to carry them, and deliver them, and you said..."

_I said that I could not do that again. _Her sudden panic eased. "I think I would like a daughter next," she said by way of answer, and smiled at him again.

"A daughter would be nice," he agreed as she turned to go, and again the wistful note was in his voice.

This time, she stopped and turned back of her own accord. "Eomer?" He looked up. "If we... if we do have a daughter." She hesitated; this was hard. She didn't want to insult him, but it was important to her. "Will you... don't ask her to consider marriage to a man she doesn't know."

"Of course," he said after a quiet moment, his face serious now.

"She might not be so lucky as me," Lothiriel explained. The smile that returned to his face was boyish and free, and did something funny to her chest. She hurried away before she could think about it.

- - -

The next afternoon, convinced that all of them could use a brief respite, Lothiriel went riding with Lady Celgwyn and Lady Eambreth. It was a beautiful day, the sky a clear soft blue and the breeze tinged with warmth, and they all enjoyed themselves. Lady Celgwyn and Lothiriel drew Lady Eambreth out on the subject of her wedding, planned for midsummer. "That is, if nothing comes up at the orphanage," she added. "Like a lice epidemic." Lothiriel shuddered at the thought.

"Things will always be coming up," Lady Celgwyn said. "You must decide what is most important to you, and work around the rest. Balance is part of life."

Lady Eambreth said that Anfrum's blood-son had said his first word, "Ma-a," bringing tears to the girl's eyes. Her foster son had followed suit two days later with "Goose!" which no one could quite explain. "Leofwine offered to teach Isencaf to use a sword," she said. "He said no thank you, quite firmly, and then changed his mind two days later. I'm not quite sure why, yet."

"I'll have another grandchild in the fall," Lady Celgwyn said a few minutes later, and both women congratulated her. "It will be their first for my youngest and her husband. She was beginning to fear that she was barren."

"Her cousins will spoil her," Lothiriel said with a smile, thinking of Lady Celgwyn's five grandchildren from her other three daughters.

"Her parents will spoil her," Lady Celgwyn agreed.

"But you won't?" Lady Eambreth asked teasingly.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Lady Celgwyn's mouth. "I never spoil my grandchildren." The three ladies laughed again.

When they turned their horses back towards Edoras, Lothiriel was taken with a sudden restlessness and urged Annwen into a trot, a canter, and then a gallop. The other two ladies kept pace with her, and she glanced over at Lady Eambreth with a grin, and then they were racing, their laughter lost on the wind.

Annwen stayed neck and neck with Lady Eambreth's mount until just before they reached the gates of Meduseld, when Lothiriel urged Annwen out front-- but her way was blocked, for Lady Celgwyn had come up on her other side, beating both of them inside. Lady Eambreth looked startled, and Lothiriel laughed again, for she knew she did, too.

"Congratulations, Lady Celgwyn," she said, dismounting. "I confess I did not know you were racing with us."

"Age and treachery over youth and skill, Your Highness," Lady Celgwyn said with a small smile.

As they led their horses on they saw that their race had been observed: Eomer, Elfhelm, and some of the guard had watched from the wall, and now a few copper coins were changing hands. Many rueful glances were cast Eomer's way, and one said, "You were right, Your Majesty, but how did you know?"

So Lothiriel stopped in front of Eomer, her face serious. "You bet against me, my lord?" she asked, looking up through her eyelashes at him.

The men gave shouts of laughter as Eomer hesitated. She let the corners of her mouth turn up a bit, and saw his eyes grow warm in response. "I advised the others not to bet on your horse," he said, and held out an apple to Annwen to make up for the slight.

Hergyth had seized the opportunity of the year's first warm weather to turn the Great Hall out and scrub it from top to bottom, changing the tapestries and replacing the rushes as well. Therefore everyone ate where they could, some in the city, some outside; Eomer had food brought to their rooms, and they ate a quiet, lazy meal in front of the fire.

Eomer was not talkative, lost in his own thoughts, and she also felt a bit detached from reality, as if she were coming down with a head cold. _Strange that I've been having such realistic dreams_, she thought. Earlier she'd dreamt of Dol Amroth, and woken to melancholy disorientation; then she'd dreamt that Eomer had put her to bed. She distinctly remembered walking that same distance from the table back to the bed, though why she should _dream_ that he had carried her... she put that thought aside.

She looked up to find Eomer watching her, and there seemed to be a strange look in his eyes, though it might have been the fire. But still he did not say anything, so she nursed Elfwine and put him to bed, then brushed out her hair and put her robe on. She went to stand by the window, looking out over the city as she liked to do, and after a moment she heard Eomer's footsteps, stopping some steps behind her.

"Lothiriel." She turned at his low voice, and there was no mistaking the intensity of his gaze. Her heart sped up, and warmth spread through her body. She could not look away from his dark eyes, and felt herself drawn a step forward. What was happening to her? "I love you," he said softly.

Shock flooded through her and froze her to the spot. "I..." she whispered, and stared at him. "I..." She did not know what to say; she did not know what she _could_ say.

But she knew what she could not say.

Time seemed to dilate, and she watched miserably as pain came into his eyes. Finally, too late, she found her voice. "Eomer, I-- I would not lie to you." Her voice broke. It was the most difficult thing she had ever said, and as she watched the import of her words sink in, she knew she would never, ever forget the look of sadness on his face. It would haunt her until the day she died. "Forgive me," she whispered. "Please."

"There is nothing to forgive." His voice was so low she could barely hear it. "Forgive me for causing you pain."

"No!" She could not keep her voice even. "Do not mock me like that." Her eyes filled with hot, stinging tears, and it was almost a relief to no longer be able to see his eyes.

"Lothiriel, I would never mock you," he said softly.

"You have no reason to ask my forgiveness," she said, her voice choked, as she wiped at her face.

"I have hurt you," he said, and the self-recrimination in his tone was not to be borne, for he did not deserve it. His expression changed to one of compassion, and he took a step forward and brought his hand up to brush her face, and Lothiriel instinctively backed up. She could not bear his gentle touch. She did not deserve his kindness, and if he tried to comfort her she would drown in self-loathing.

Eomer had frozen where he was, and the look on his face made her feel like she'd kicked a dog. "I'm sorry," she whispered miserably as he slowly lowered his hand back to his side. _I'm sorry I cannot return your words of love. I'm sorry I cannot let you touch me. Oh, Eomer, forgive me. _She sank down on the window ledge and leaned her head against the wall, trying not to give way to desperate sobs. It was of no avail.

_You will do anything for him, and yet you hurt him?_ her merciless conscience demanded, but she knew it was no worse than she deserved. She bit down on her hand, trying to keep herself silent as the tears poured down her face. He loved her, and she might as well have torn his heart out and stomped on it. He would never say so, but the Rohirrim did not lie, and she could read his expression as clearly as if he had spoken.

She didn't know how long she sat there, suffocating in misery and guilt, but finally her crying slowed, leaving her feeling as if she had torn her own heart out as well as Eomer's. She looked up, and saw him sitting on the far side of the bed, facing away from her; the slump of his shoulders, and the way he held his head in his hand, was like a silent accusation, and the tears started all over again. _This is what you have done to your dearest friend, _her conscience said, _the man you care about so deeply_.

She heard him moving about, after a while, as she lay curled in the window ledge, her sleeve soaked with tears. Every time she thought she'd stopped crying she remembered something, whether the way he smiled at her, or the warmth in his eyes as he laughed, or the tenderness on his face as he watched her with Elfwine; then she saw in her mind the look on his face when she'd said she wouldn't lie to him, and her heart hurt so badly it was a physical ache. Lothiriel knew that the best thing she could do for him now was to stop crying, but never had she felt more wretched since coming to Rohan than she did at that moment.

Finally she was quiet, and lay exhausted, wishing the numbness that seemed to have overtaken her senses would dull the sensation in her heart, too. _Would that I could turn back time..._

"Lothiriel," Eomer said gently, nearby, and the sound of his voice sent fresh guilt through her. "Come to bed. You will catch your death of cold there."

_How can he still think to care about me, when he must feel_... She mutely shook her head, not looking up. After a few moments, she heard a quiet sigh, and a thick, soft blanket settled over her.

"Thank you," she whispered, and his response was a brief, light touch on her shoulder. Then she heard his footsteps retreat, and the bed creaked as he settled on it.

But when morning came, the sun's first light saw her curled up in the large bed, her pillow wet with tears.

- - -

Eomer went very early to the council chamber the next morning, feeling numb, hoping to avoid seeing anyone. And for a few moments he had blessed solitude, and then Elfhelm entered.

"Eomer?" the other man asked quietly, and Eomer forced himself to look up. He knew what he looked like. "Is something wrong?"

Eomer stared at the tabletop for a full minute before the words trickled out like blood from a wound. "I made Lothiriel cry."

He had his old friend's full attention now. "What happened?"

He closed his eyes, trying in vain to shut out the memory of the previous night. "I told her I loved her." Elfhelm was silent, and he didn't dare look up for fear of what he would see. "The way her face crumpled..." he whispered. "I felt like a murderer."

"Are you angry with her?" Elfhelm asked gently.

Eomer started to deny it, but his innate honesty forced him to stop. "A little," he admitted. "I love her, and she finds the idea repugnant." His bitter tone softened. "She cried for so long," he said slowly. "And all I could do was give her a blanket." He shook his head. "I wish I knew why she was so upset."

"You may have reminded her of someone in Dol Amroth that she loved," Elfhelm said quietly.

"Perhaps," Eomer forced himself to agree, and closed his eyes.

Elfhelm put his hand on Eomer's shoulder. "She is a good woman. You are a good man. It will work out." Then the door opened and the rest of the Council arrived, and there was no more time for talk.


	22. Chapter 22

The head cold struck the next day. Lothiriel woke to a quiet, empty chamber and an oppressive headache, wondering why she had slept so late. Then she remembered, and rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling, feeling completely drained, except for her nose.

The weight in her lungs and head matched that in her heart. If she were ten years younger, she would have curled up into a tight ball and pulled the blankets over her head. Instead, after a long time, the numb thought came: _What have I done?_

She wanted it to have been a nightmare, but the stickiness of her eyes and the vividness of her memories destroyed all hope of that. Rolling over on her side, she touched the indentations where Eomer had lain. They were cold. She gently traced them, feeling the ghost of the shape of his head.

Eventually, she could not hide any longer from either the day or the reality of her actions. She got up and lifted Elfwine from his cradle, holding him close even after he was done nursing and pressing her lips to the top of his head. Her brows pulled together and her throat tightened, and silent tears ran down her face to drop into his scant golden hair. The feel of moisture on her cheeks was painfully familiar, and she knew things would have gone better the night before if she hadn't cried in front of Eomer. She made a silent vow not do so so again.

Elfwine gurgled and she smiled through her tears, murmuring sweet-sounding nonsense that was comforting to both of them. She rocked him until his eyes started to droop; then she dressed-- in red, to hide the pallor that the small mirror in the dressing room showed her-- and washed her face with cold water to conceal the marks of her crying. Her throat felt as if it were swollen shut, but she didn't want to stay in the bedchamber long enough to brew tea to ease her cold. Instead she tucked a handkerchief into each sleeve, wrapped Elfwine warmly, and closed the door firmly behind her.

The first person she encountered was Hergyth, in the corridor that paralleled the Great Hall. "Good morning, Your Highness," the stewardess of Meduseld said with a quick nod.

"Good morning," Lothiriel said, trying to smile. Her voice came to her own ears sounding as if she were trying to speak underwater, like she and her brothers had once practiced through one long summer; she wondered if it was her throat or her hearing. "Is everything well?"

"Yes, Your Highness. We've finished cleaning."

"Good," she said. "Did the shipment of cotton ever arrive from the south?"

"Yes, two days ago. I had it sent to the weavers' guild so they could begin experimenting with combining the fibers with the wool."

"Thank you," Lothiriel nodded. "Master Berdwald must have been pleased."

"He was," Hergyth said, nodding in turn. "He wants to try linen next."

"Mildew would be a problem," Lothiriel murmured, thinking back to the thick, sealed chests that the people of Dol Amroth always kept their clothes in, to guard against the humidity. Linen was the fabric of choice there; one of the things she'd had to adjust to in Rohan was the feel of wool against her skin. _And new food, and a new language, and-- no._

"Master Berdwald thinks that can be prevented by storing it in chests sprinkled with saleratus."

Lothiriel felt the corners of her mouth turn up. "He has thought this through quite well." Trade of not only foreign goods but also foreign information had increased manifoldly in Rohan since the War, and the craftsmen were eager to learn all they could from the South. In turn, they shared what they had; Amrothos wrote her that the introduction of Rohirric horses was already improving the breeding lines of the Gondorian cavalry, and the crossings of related strands of maize and wheat had improved harvests in both kingdoms.

She said goodbye to Hergyth and went on to the Great Hall, which was nearly empty. Lothiriel sat by the hearth, and Aelgwyn brought her a cup of tea and a bowl of hot barley porridge. Neither cleared her head, and she sneezed three times in quick succession, turning her head so as not to sicken Elfwine. Her skin seemed unusually sensitive, and her handkerchief, though made of soft cotton, rubbed harshly. _My nose will be the same color as my dress soon_, she thought.

"Your Highness?"

Lothiriel looked up and tried to muster a smile for Lady Eambreth. "Good morning."

Lady Eambreth looked concerned. "Are you all right, Your Highness?" She sat down next to Lothiriel on the bench.

"Yes, I just have a bad cold," Lothiriel said. "I won't be able to come by the orphanage today, though. I don't want to get the children sick." This time she hoped her smile was more convincing. "I'll be better once I warm up, and eat."

"Then I won't keep you from your breakfast," Lady Eambreth said. "I was looking for Hergyth, to ask if she knew the best way of preparing a large quantity of mutton, for a tradesman just gave us a number of sheep he had slaughtered."

"The last I saw her, she was going towards the lower storerooms," Lothiriel said.

Lady Eambreth nodded, but lingered for another moment. "Are you sure you will be all right?"

"Yes, it's really just a little cold. Nothing to fuss about." She didn't know if she was convincing or not, but after a moment Lady Eambreth also said goodbye and went on her way.

Lothiriel lingered by the fire for a few moments, trying to plan her day. Hergyth needed no help that she knew of; she couldn't visit the orphanage; assuredly she did not want to go back to those quiet, memory-laden rooms she had just left. All that remained, unless she wanted to walk out in the cold, was to visit her ladies and help them with their weaving. She climbed to her feet, a little wearily, and left the Great Hall for the opposite end of Meduseld.

Rounding a corner, she walked into the very encounter she had hoped to put off as long as possible: in the corridor before her stood Brinweld, Elfhelm, Herefara, Gamling, Lady Celgwyn-- and Eomer. Her heart sped up and she felt her face flush, but she forced her voice to remain steady and pleasant as she greeted them. Her gaze met Eomer's for just a moment, and then she looked away to answer Lady Celgwyn.

Elfhelm had not seen Elfwine for some time, so Lothiriel passed him over for inspection. "A child of steel," he murmured, but did not explain. Elfwine's eyes opened and he cooed, and the corners of Elfhelm's mouth turned up a bit, his serious mien lightening momentarily.

Elfhelm passed Elfwine to Lady Celgwyn, and Lothiriel looked up to find Brinweld watching her. He frowned. "You're not well," he said.

"It's just a bit of a cold," she said, sensing rather than seeing Eomer's gaze on her. _You will catch your death of cold_, he'd said. Was he remembering as well?

Brinweld was still frowning. "You should go back to bed, milady. I will send someone with something for you to drink."

She thought about protesting, but her head felt like the dead jellyfish that washed up on Dol Amroth's shores in the summer and swelled in the heat; her lungs felt as if they were made of iron; and by the alternating hot and cold flushes that ran through her body, she knew she was feverish. So she inclined her head in acquiescence, curtsied again, and turned to go, Lady Celgwyn stayed beside her. "I can look after Elfwine for a while you sleep," she said.

Brinweld must have overheard, for he called after her, "Leave Elfwine with his wet nurse tonight, milady." She hesitated, but nodded again. As she walked away, Lothiriel heard Eomer questioning Brinweld, but his voice was too low for her to make out the words.

Lady Celgwyn looked thoughtful, but was silent as they walked, for which Lothiriel was thankful. There was nothing she wanted to explain. Finally they reached her rooms; Lady Celgwyn took Elfwine with a promise to deliver him to the wet nurse. The door closed behind her, and Lothiriel was left in exactly the situation she'd wanted to avoid: with plenty of time for contemplation, and no activity to distract her.

After a time, her solitude was interrupted by a knock on the solar door; she went to let Brinweld in, who had come to bring her some tonic, and clarify in case he'd alarmed her. "I've no doubt you have anything but a fever," he said, "but you'll be more comfortable if you nip it in the bud with a lot of rest." Lothiriel thanked him, drank the tonic without noticing the taste, and went back to bed.

She drifted in and out of sleep, but still had too much time to think. The sun marched steadily across the sky, and she felt listless and detached as she watched the shadows move. The quiet and the stillness played on her nerves, and she nearly got up twice to seek some human company, but she didn't feel like talking to anyone, and she didn't want Brinweld to see her. The sun went down; she shivered, and pulled the blankets closer around her.

For all her contemplation, she had found no answers when the door finally opened and shut quietly. Eomer thought she was asleep, she realized as she listened to him building up the fire. Lothiriel was reluctant to disillusion him, and lay still and silent as she heard the flames begin to crackle again. Then muted footsteps approached the bed, and stopped, and she knew he was looking down at her. But when she opened her eyes and looked up, he had already turned away.

Eventually the scratching of his pen lulled her to sleep. She woke briefly when the room darkened, and she felt his weight on the other side of the mattress, and then slept fitfully through the night. The fever was reaching its peak, and she alternated between sweating heat and teeth-chattering cold. She lost all sense of time passing, and the way the shadows seemed to dance did not help her disorientation.

She fell into a deep sleep sometime early in the morning, and partially woke to see Eomer moving quietly about. _I have to break the silence_, she thought muzzily. On that resolve she closed her eyes for just a moment, but when she opened them again she saw an empty room, and heard the door close quietly.

Her fever had broken in the night, but she spent most of the day weak and tired, her head still throbbing. The wet nurse sent Elfwine back, and she put him on the bed to save herself the trip back and forth to the cradle. She sang to him in Rohirric and Sindarin until both of them were sleepy, and smiled when he fell asleep with his tiny fist clutched tightly around her index finger.

Always lurking at the back of her mind was sadness and guilt. It was worst when she woke up, because for just a moment she would forget, and then it would come crashing in on her, and she would groan and hide her face in the pillow. _How do I make things right?_ she thought miserably. _How did they ever go so wrong?_

She was sleeping, Elfwine cuddled up to her chest, when Eomer returned again, but gradually she became aware that there was another person in the room. Lothiriel wondered bleakly if he was being so quiet because she was sick, or because he just didn't want to talk to her. She realized they hadn't spoken since she'd thanked him for the blanket-- had it only been two days ago? It seemed like an eternity of misery separating now from then. _How much worse for Eomer... _She felt tears in her eyes again and held them back, remembering her vow.

She turned her head and saw him sitting by the fire, staring into it, and she couldn't find the courage to break his reverie. Instead she held Elfwine close, feeling his slow breathing on her neck; this nearly lulled her to sleep. But when she heard footsteps, and the door opening again, she sat bolt upright, ignoring the sudden pain that sprouted in the crown of her head. "Eomer, wait!" she said. He turned back, looking surprised. "Please... don't go yet." He shut the door and took a few steps back into the room, looking down at her. "I... I'm sorry for what I did," she said simply. "Will you forgive me?"

"As I said before," he said after a moment, and she heard the shadow of pain in his voice, "there is nothing to forgive."

"I didn't mean to cry," she said, keeping her gaze on his. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Eomer, I do care for you--" Her voice faltered.

"It's all right," he said quietly, and she had to hold back tears again, for she knew it wasn't. But for now, that would have to do. Eomer sat down on the end of the bed. "How are you feeling?" His voice was lighter now.

"Better," she said. "My head hurts, but the fever is gone." _My heart hurts, too_.

"Will you be all right by yourself?"

"Yes."

He hesitated, and then said, "I have to go to a council of war."

She felt her eyes widen. "War?" she repeated quietly.

"There are more orcs then we originally thought. We ride out as soon as we can assemble the riders and the supplies."

"How... how soon will that be?"

"A fortnight, at most." She must have looked stricken, for he said, "There are perhaps two hundred orcs, no more. We are taking three eoreds."

Nearly four hundred men, but who knew how many orcs were still infesting the mines of Moria, able to travel unseen and appear suddenly... She turned her mind from that subject. "In the morning I will help the ladies..." What did the ladies of Edoras do before their men went off to war? Wrap bandages? Organize supplies? "... do whatever needs to be done."

"The quartermaster will have that well in hand," Eomer said. "But..."

"But what?"

"There is an eored, here, going with us from the Westfold," he said. "The men cannot say good-bye to their families. They will want to leave messages, in case they should die, but most of them cannot write."

"And the ladies can," she said, and nodded. "All right."

There was a pause, then he stood. "I will not be back before it is late. I'll be quiet when I come in."

"Good... luck," she said softly, and then Eomer was gone.

-

The next morning she was woke by the sound of Eomer's laughter. She rolled over and opened her eyes, and saw him standing by Elfwine's cradle, holding their son. He looked up and saw her. "He smiled at me," he said, his voice delighted. Lothiriel looked sleepily at Elfwine; his toothless gums were split in a wide, gleeful grin as he stared up at his father. "His first smile!"

She smiled too, after a moment's hesitation standing up a bit unsteadily. There was no need to tell him about the smile Elfwine had given her yesterday; he'd probably just been passing wind, anyway.

-

She spent the next day with her ladies, writing messages for the men of the Westfold eored who could not write themselves. It was heartwrenching listening to the simple things they left to their wives and children, and she found herself repeating like a mantra the fervent wish that they would all come safely back again.

When finally the last soldier had had his message written, Lothiriel stretched her cramping, ink-stained left hand and stood, steadying herself against the table. "Your Highness?" Lady Cynwyn asked. "Are you well?"

"Just a little shaky from sitting so long," Lothiriel said. To a passing servant, she asked, "Where is the king?"

"Down at the practice fields, Your Highness." So Lothiriel made her way slowly out of Meduseld, down the broad steps, and around to the trampled, muddy training fields. Most of the soldiers were gone, only a few lingering to watch the remaining combatants. Eomer was sparring with Elfhelm, one of the few men who could give him a challenging fight. Guthwine and Elfhelm's blade struck sparks off of each other as they circled, breaking away and then closing again in a fresh flurry of attacks, almost too fast for her to follow.

She had only seen Eomer fight a few times, and was taken again by how gracefully and fluidly he moved; his sword was like an extension of his body. _Truly one of the great warriors of Middle-earth_. The thought comforted her.

Then Elfhelm locked hilts and with a sudden twist of his wrist sent Eomer's sword flying. Lothiriel's breath caught in her throat, but Elfhelm knew what he was doing, and backed up. Eomer smiled ruefully, and said something that Lothiriel could not hear.

The two men exchanged a few brief words, and then Elfhelm left, nodding to Lothiriel as he passed her. She was now the only bystander left, and waited as Eomer retrieved Guthwine and cleaned it. He looked up at her inquiringly, but she leaned against the fence, not in any hurry.

The day had left her more drained than she had thought, and as they walked back to Meduseld she had to lean on his arm for support. Brinweld encountered them in one of the hallways, and after taking one look at Lothiriel told her to rest the next day.

"But the preparations--"

"There are plenty of others to look after the preparations. You are the only one who can look after your health," the healer of Meduseld said.

So the next day she woke, once again, to bright sunlight and an empty room. Elfwine was crying, and her head seemed to swim a bit as she got up to nurse him. Then she ran water for a bath, ate the substantial breakfast a maid brought her at Brinweld's instructions, and lay in bed staring at the ceiling. _I have to _do _something_, she thought, but Brinweld was right; she had to get better first.

Elfwine was fussy, and kept interrupting her sleep. Finally she heard a faint knock, and went through the solar to open the door from the antechamber. Elwyn and Anfrum were standing there, the former looking excited and nervous, the latter expressionless. "Lady Eambreth sent us to see if you wanted us to take Elfwine for the day," Elwyn said, curtsying. "We can keep him quiet out here, and Anfrum can nurse him if need be."

Lothiriel blinked. "I... would appreciate that very much," she said, and went to get him. "How are your sons, Anfrum?"

"They're well, Your Highness," she said quietly, but there was the tiny hint of a smile on the corners of her mouth.

It took Lothiriel more than one day to get her strength and energy back, and she wondered dully how much of that was due to her mental state. _But what else could I have _done? she thought miserably. _No matter how I said it, I still could not have told him I love him. Why did he have to say it?_

Three days after she watched Eomer on the practice fields, she discovered the weedy, dead remains of Queen Elfhild's garden, in a walled enclosure on the east side of their rooms. The small sunny garden was warmer than their rooms, and she could rest often, so she spent the morning slowly preparing the dirt for a new garden. In a corner of her wooden chest, she had wrapped up carefully the flowers Erchirion had brought her; when she took them out to touch them, she could hear the rattle of the seeds inside. Maybe, if she planted them here in this warm spot and tended them very carefully, they would grow.

Most of the plants would have to be taken out, but in the very corner she found the woody skeleton of a rose bush, and when she broke off a branch, she saw green deep inside. All of a sudden she recalled Eomer's story, and she realized that these were almost certainly pink roses. Then she felt tears in her eyes again, and since there was no one to see her, she gave vent to the misery of the last days of heartache and sickness.

A soft step caused her to look up, and there was Eomer. _Oh, no_, she thought, and hastily wiped her eyes; she'd assumed he would be making plans for the campaign. But he had already seen her, and she knew her eyes were red and puffy. "What's wrong?" he asked, hesitantly kneeling in front of her.

She shook her head, and started to say something about being homesick, but she could no more lie to Eomer than she had before. So she was silent, not wanting to say anything that would cause him more pain; then she realized that he probably thought the worst from her silence.

"I respect you," she said. "I admire you, I am grateful for your friendship, I care about you... but... you deserve a wife who loves you, too."

There was a pause, and she did not dare look up at his face. Then he said, "But I love _you_."

_So I am to be his only chance at happiness?_ she thought. _He deserves better than that_. But since he was right in front of her, she wiped her eyes and tried to smile.

"I wish I'd never spoken," he said in a low voice.

"No!" It came out with more force than she'd intended. "Eomer, you've done nothing wrong. It's not your fault that I--" She bit off the rest of her sentence rather than have it choked off by tears. _I must not cry! _"It's not your fault."

After an excruciating pause, he said, "I came to find you to ask if you would want to go to Dol Amroth, after I return. There are trade issues to discuss, and Elfwine could meet his grandparents."

"If you'd like," she agreed, but her answer did not fool him.

"You don't want to go."

"I still miss it so much sometimes," she said softly. "I try not to-- but it was my home. I cannot forget it, however much the memories pain me. Going back, and then leaving again... would be like ripping open a half-healed wound. I... don't think I could bear to leave it again just now." She looked up at him. "I'm sorry. You must think me fickle. I want to go back, with all my heart, but-- I know I shouldn't."

He shook his head. "No. I understand."

"Besides," Lothiriel said after a moment, "Amrothos means to come here this summer, and so do my parents, if they can." Eomer nodded.

When she couldn't stand the silence any more, she said, "Your mother's roses."

Eomer went over and inspected the plant. "Do you think you can get it to grow again?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I do." She hesitated. "If you truly wish to go to Dol Amroth, I will go."

"No," he said. "I would not cause you pain for anything."

"You haven't," she whispered. "I have caused my own pain."

-

Later that evening, as twilight dissolved into true night, Lady Celgwyn came to the orphanage for tea, as she often did, and Lady Eambreth finally got the chance to ask what had been troubling her for days.

"What is wrong with Her Highness?" she asked.

Lady Celgwyn sipped at her tea. "It is said she is sick."

Lady Eambreth gave her a mild look, reproaching her for her evasion. "One day she was happy and laughing," she said. "Do you remember? She teased the king. And then the next, she was pale and quiet."

"The next day," Lady Celgwyn said slowly. "I would not say this to anyone else, but the next day she looked as if she had been crying."

A step in the doorway made both the women look up, but it was only Elfhelm, coming to join them as he sometimes did. "I see I am not the only one troubled," he said.

"Do you know what is wrong with the queen?" Lady Eambreth asked him.

He hesitated. "The same thing that is wrong with the king."

"Did they... fight?"

Elfhelm hesitated again. "I do not wish to break their confidence. But no. They did not fight."

"Ah," Lady Celgwyn said, and looked at Elfhelm, who nodded slowly. Lady Eambreth turned from one to the other, and her expression grew thoughtful, and then sad.

"It does not take an especially observant person to see certain things," she murmured, and then reassured Elfhelm, "but I will say nothing more." Then she sighed softly. "I've sent Anfrum and Elwyn to look after Elfwine for her, but I wish I could do more."

"Stand by her," Elfhelm said. "She desperately needs friends, and comfort."

- - -

Author's note: Saleratus is a name for baking soda. In an environment humid enough to promote mildew, the baking soda would ionize, creating a basic environment that would help neutralize the mildew.

Also, I'll be traveling for the next few weeks, so chapter 23 will be delayed.


	23. Chapter 23

It was nearly midnight when Eomer dismissed his captains, satisfied that everything was in hand. They would ride out the morning after next; the last riders had arrived that afternoon. More would be waiting to meet them on their way north.

Lothiriel and Elfwine were both sleeping, so he was quiet as he ran a bath and sluiced off the dirt of the training grounds. He'd spent the morning there, testing himself and watching the captains test the riders, to make sure everyone was ready. Tomorrow would be spent double-checking supplies, tack, and weapons; he knew his men would triple-check, and even fourfold-check, their tack again on the morning they rode. He expected nothing less.

The room was chilly, and Lothiriel had most of the covers, but he was too tired to get up and get another blanket; instead he gently pulled one loose that she wasn't using, but had tangled with the others. In two more nights he'd be sleeping on the ground instead of a warm bed. I've gotten soft, he thought, and drifted off to sleep.

When he woke in the morning, he was confused by the presence of the thick down comforter tucked up to his chest, and rolled onto his side to look at Lothiriel. But she was sleeping still, turned towards him, her mouth slightly open. A lock of her hair had fallen over her face, and he wanted to reach out and brush it away. He wanted to gently trace the lines of her face, and cradle her chin in one hand, and kiss her awake, and let her fall asleep in his arms again. He wanted to make love to her, and hold her close to him, and fall asleep beside her afterwards.

_You know she would let you do all those things, if she thought it was what you wanted_, a part of his consciousness said. _Especially since you are leaving._ And he did know it. Her recoil from him the night of his ill-timed confession had been reflex, he thought; she would never consciously pull away from him again. But every time his thoughts began to run along those lines, the knowledge that the pleasure he gained would be at her expense always curtailed his desire. He would not use her like that.

Besides, what he really wanted was for her to love him. And that one thing, he could not bring about.

He sighed and went to get dressed.

-

It was after midnight when Lothiriel woke, confused by the warm weight on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and saw Eomer's head there, his body angled away from her. He was sound asleep.

She shifted a little bit to take the pressure off her collarbone, and Eomer murmured in his sleep. She'd seen next to nothing of him that day; he'd been busy all day checking everything one last time. And today, later that morning, the Rohirrim would ride out.

Eomer's head on her shoulder was comforting, tangible proof that he was there for one last night. She closed her eyes and felt the pleasant lassitude of sleep reach out to her.

Sometime later, Elfwine started to fuss, and she woke again. She thought for a moment, and then carefully eased her pillow out from under her head; as she in turn slid out from under Eomer's head, she replaced her shoulder with the pillow. He sighed and rolled over, but didn't wake, and she tucked the comforter up around him as she had the night before.

In the morning, he didn't seem to remember any of it; he was distracted, his thoughts far away. They readied themselves in the silence that was too common between them now, and Lothiriel nursed Elfwine as she waited for Eomer. His armor was stored elsewhere; Guthwine, however, was fastened at his belt.

He offered her his arm, and they turned to go, Elfwine on her right hip. It was the last chance she would have to speak privately with Eomer before he left; once they were outside, he would go off to don his armor, and she would wait with the other ladies of the court, trying to follow their calm, stoic example. But the words she wanted stuck in her throat.

In the antechamber he stopped and turned to face her. She looked up at him, and her heart seemed to beat harder in her chest. Now was the time to speak. But-- the expression on Eomer's face rendered her speechless. As they looked at each other, her eyes wide and his intense, she thought he was going to kiss her. She stood still and closed her eyes. His hand came up to cup her cheek, but his lips just brushed her forehead. Then he stood back, and his hand found her elbow again. "We should go," he said.

Lothiriel nodded dumbly, unable to even name her turbulent emotions, and let the warmth of his touch guide her out to the corridor. When they were through the door, finally she stopped. "Eomer--"

"Eomer King!" A crowd of people descended upon them, all talking at once, and nearly bore him away. He glanced back at her, but they were too far apart, and all she could do was look.

Elfwine whimpered at her side, and she automatically soothed him. She stood for a few moments feeling lost, and then sought out the other women, who were in a corner of the Great Hall. They had all worked hard in the last few days, writing letters, finding places for young children to stay whose only parent was riding to battle, and even winding bandages for Brinweld; now, having said goodbye to their men, they stood calmly making small talk. Unable to concentrate on their light conversation, Lothiriel sat at the edge of the group and nursed Elfwine.

Finally the ladies moved out onto the terrace, where some of the Council was also assembled. The plain below was a bustling mass of men and horses. She picked out Erkenbrand overseeing the loading of the last supplies, and then her eyes found Eomer, who was talking to two of his captains. He was in armor now, the legendary horse-tailed helmet held under his arm. The white plume showed no traces of the grime and blood it must have picked up in the War of the Ring. Then he turned, and the sun caught his armor, and it gleamed so brightly that Lothiriel had to look away. _His whole life is as a bright flame. _

Slowly, the chaos turned to order as men and mounts found their places. They would ride in wide columns, but for now they formed themselves into square ranks Finally, all the last-minute preparations were complete. The eored was mounted, and the king's banner was unfurled, snapping in the breeze. All that remained was for them to ride out.

Eomer came up the steps and gave last-minute instructions to those of his advisors who stood there. Finally he came to Lothiriel. They stood looking at each other for a moment, and then Eomer took Elfwine from her and kissed his forehead. Elfwine stared with wide eyes at Eomer's horse-tail, and started to whimper.

Eomer handed Elfwine back to Lothiriel. "Good-bye, Lothiriel," he said softly.

"Good-bye," she said, trying to keep her voice even. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but only inclined his head to her, and turned to go.

"Eomer," she said. He turned back to her. "Come back," she whispered.

"I will," he promised, his voice low. His eyes not leaving her face, he took her hand and raised it to his lips. Just before he let go she tightened her grip, a brief moment's pressure. "I will," he said again, and their gazes locked, and then he turned and went down the stairs to where his squire held Firefoot. He mounted, and looked around at the eored, satisfying himself one last time that everything was in order before riding through the middle of his riders to the front of the ranks. Then he drew his sword from its sheath and raised it in the air; it shone in the morning sun until Lothiriel's eyes hurt to look at it. "Ride!" he called in a clear voice, and beside him his herald blew a blast on his horn.

Lothiriel stood in front of all the ladies of the court and the men of the council, the wind blowing her hair and her skirts, and held tightly to Elfwine as she watched the eored clatter into motion, Eomer at the head of all. His armor gleamed in the light, and the same wind that teased her floated strands of his white horse-tail behind his helmet.

She shivered from pride and from fear, and she held Elfwine more closely as in her mind rose words she had read long ago. _Eomund of the Eastfold rode out with few men and was ambushed and killed by orcs, leaving behind a wife, a young son, and a daughter... _

After a time, she realized that Elfhelm was beside her, and the others had gone inside. He offered her his arm. "Shall we go in, Your Highness?"

Lothiriel shook her head, her eyes still on the gleaming mass moving across the plain. "I would rather stay out here, if you don't mind."

He watched with her. "They will ride north for four days," he said, "and camp near Isengard. First they will attack during the day, when the orcs are most disoriented, and then retreat to allow them to regroup." Lothiriel knew this already, but it was comforting to have Elfhelm repeat it to her. "Depending on the situation, they may let the orcs counterattack, to get them in one place." Lothiriel shivered; Elfhelm noticed. "Few of our injuries during the War were from orc blades, Your Highness," he added. "Our armor is good, and their weapons are poor."

She knew that, too; her brothers had said as much during their tales of the War. Yet it was still reassuring. They subsided into silence, and Elfhelm stayed patiently beside her as she watched the men slowly, slowly dwindle into the distance.

-

_ Orc blood. _He'd spilled enough of it to know the smell anywhere; now his nostrils were filled with it. It had stopped turning his stomach years ago.

Just as familiar were the shouts of men and the clang of metal against metal, and the feel of Firefoot rearing and pawing beneath him as he slashed and thrust. The orcs were in chaotic retreat, and he and his men pursued them mercilessly up the mountain, their horses finding sure footing even in the loose stones of the slope.

He smiled grimly as he killed, because every orc death was another child that would live to adulthood, another dwelling that would go unburned. His veins sang with the sheer exultation of wiping evil from the land and protecting his people. _You took advantage of my people when they were helpless. Now I have come to repay you in kind!_ He bared his teeth and slashed, and an orc arrow rang harmlessly off of his armor.

"Eomer!" He turned at Erkenbrand's shout. "The horses can't go any further, or they'll trigger an avalanche!" Upslope less than twenty horselengths, the orcs were scrabbling across loose scree to disappear into crevices in the mountain. They were so close-- a few men could pursue them easily and...

_ No._ Reluctantly, Eomer nodded to his standard-bearer to sound the horns for falling back. Their archers laid down a covering barrage as they retreated slowly, the last rank riding backwards. Eomer's blood lust faded, and his armor suddenly weighed heavily on his shoulders as he looked around. Not only orcs had fallen here; not only orc blood turned the ground beneath Firefoot's hooves into mud. But thankfully, the healers would be busy that night. Most of the casualties were injured, not dead.

Later, he met with his captains for a meal of thin venison stew and a tactical meeting. "We've wiped out most of the orcs," he began. "But I mislike leaving any of them alive."

"What do you have in mind?" Erkenbrand asked.

"An ambush. Most of you ride back down the mountain, and then double back under cover; a few of us remain behind. We can expect the orcs to attack at dusk, and the rest of the force will come back and surround them."

He expected his captains to object to his automatic inclusion of himself with the rear guard; instead, most of them looked thoughtful. "How will we convince the orcs that we've left?" Scatha asked.

"We can hide the main force and send the wounded down towards Isengard at dusk," Erkenbrand said. "They'll be out of the way, and the orcs will assume they're seeing the end of our retreat, if they think at all. They'll probably be too distracted by the prospect of slaughtering our rear guard."

One by one, the captains started to nod, and they clustered around the maps to work out the details.

-

Lothiriel's feet were light against the stone as she walked, but Meduseld was nearly silent so late at night, and she could hear her steps clearly. It was odd to see the great hall so deserted; the fire had died down to coals, and the red glow and the moon's light were the only illumination in the large room. Even the cats and dogs slept quietly by the hearth.

At first the massive doors resisted her push, and then the guards on the other side pulled them the rest of the way open. They bowed when they identified her, and she nodded in return. As she stepped onto the terrace the wind hit her, and she shivered and pulled her thick cloak more tightly around her.

She was not alone. At the edge of the terrace, another person was sitting, wisps of copper hair barely discernible in the darkness. Lothiriel sat beside her, tucking her legs underneath her. "You could not sleep, either?" she asked.

"No," Lady Eambreth said. As part of the king's guard, Leofwine had gone with Eomer.

They sat quietly for a while, both looking north across the dark plains. Somewhere out there, Eomer was sleeping, if all was  
well. And if all was not well...

"This is Leofwine's last battle," Lady Eambreth said finally. "He is leaving the guard when we are married in the summer. He says that now that there is peace, he can do something better than fight."

"He has a wise heart," Lothiriel said. "And the children will be glad to have him at the orphanage."

"Yes," Lady Eambreth agreed, but the usual tender smile on her face when she spoke of her betrothed was absent. "They say the latest message is that the men may be gone another month or more."

"It is," Lothiriel confirmed reluctantly. "I saw it."

"They must have found more orcs than they planned for."

"Or they decided to go looking for more orcs than they planned for," Lothiriel said, and shivered.

Lady Eambreth looked at her. "Don't worry," she said. "He will come back to you. He is Eadig."

Lothiriel had heard the word murmured in the streets before. Blessed. "I am selfish," she said softly. "Rohan needs him so very badly, and you tell me he will come back to me." _And I have so little right to want him back._ "I am so very selfish."

"Then I am selfish, too," Lady Eambreth said with a wise little smile. "But there are worse shortcomings, Your Highness." After a moment, she added, "I never missed Freca. I was always grateful when he was called away, though it never seemed often enough. And so I take pleasure, as I can, in missing Leofwine... though I would be much more pleased if he were here," she finished with a little smile.

"I... had never thought of it that way," Lothiriel said. "During the War, those who had no families in danger were counted as lucky, but perhaps we should have pitied them instead for having no one to miss."

"Perhaps," the other woman agreed. Finally she got to her feet, wincing at stiff muscles. "I should go back, one of the children is sick. I just came up here for the view."

Lothiriel nodded, her eyes drawn north at Lady Eambreth's words. Somewhere out there, Eomer was sleeping, or planning, or fighting, possibly for his life-- he was one of the best warriors of the time but it would take only a chance blow-- _Stop it_, she told herself firmly.

"Good night, Your Highness." Lady Eambreth turned to go.

"Wait," Lothiriel said. "Lady Eambreth-- you will see Leofwine again."

The other woman smiled. "Thank you," she said, and made her way down the stares. Lothiriel lingered a moment longer, her gaze fixed on the Misty Mountains, but the cold wind cutting through her cloak drove her inside.

Back in bed, she shivered and pulled the thick down comforter more snugly to her chin. Across the room, Elfwine slept quietly, and she did not want to disturb him for her own comfort.

Lady Eambreth's words had reinforced how much she missed Eomer. She missed his smile, she missed his laugh, she missed his gentle strength, she missed watching him hold Elfwine. She missed his comforting physical presence; she missed his warmth in their bed at night. In the early weeks of their marriage, she had lain awake for what had seemed like hours each night, worried that at any moment he might roll over to her and expect her to be receptive to his intimacies. But eventually she'd realized that he would never take advantage of her like that; he was Eomer, he had a sense of honor as wide as the Sundering Sea, and for him it would be unthinkable to force himself on her. _I did him a disservice by being wary._

She wanted him to come back, wanted to see him again. But at the same time she knew it must hurt him to be near her, reminding him of that horribly awry conversation that still made her heart ache; and it hurt her every time she looked at him and remembered the expression on his face that night. _We cannot be happy when we are together, we bring each other pain. Would that I could spare him it..._

She sighed and stretched, and her hand brushed his pillow, which still held the impressions of his head from the night before he had left. Lothiriel pulled it to her and hugged it to her chest, closing her eyes and burying her face in it. It smelled sweet and musky, and she shivered. _How can I have lived with him for a year without learning his scent?_

She fell asleep like that, with the pillow held tightly in her arms.

-

As Meduseld grew larger on the horizon, Eomer's spirits rose. During the War he'd been away for much longer periods of time, but now his longing for it was much greater. Now, he had something to come home to.

He saw the terrace and remembered Lothiriel standing there, her hair and skirts blown back in the wind, holding their son and looking bravely north. He'd looked back once as they'd ridden out and seen her still there, a tiny red and black dot, and the picture had stayed with him through battle and hardship.

She did not love him, he knew; but remembering the way she had looked at him, the things she had said in the days before he'd left, he thought that she might come to in time. He was a patient man; so long as she was near him, he could wait-- though he was impatient with the few minutes remaining in the ride back to Edoras.

As they rode through the city his men dispersed; as soon as they stabled their horses, they would be free to go. Word of the soldiers' return began to spread, and people started coming out of their homes to cheer them and to greet their men. Eomer smiled at the celebration. Very few men had died, and those wounded who were still living were all expected to survive. There would be little mourning in Edoras that night.

Finally he reached the steps in front of Meduseld, dismounted, and gave Firefoot's reins to the boy who waited. But no one waited on the terrace; he went up the steps as quickly as his armor allowed and entered the hall, looking around. He did not see Lothiriel there, either, and his heart grew a little heavy. Was she avoiding him?

Gamling and Haleth, both looking unwontedly solemn, stepped forward to meet him. Gamling bowed. "Welcome, sire."

He frowned at their dour reserve. "What news?"

"The people at Helm's Deep have reported wargs," Haleth said. "They may only be wolves. Elfhelm took half of Edoras's eored to reinforce Erkenbrand's garrison there, and to deliver some of this year's surplus. And Herefara has been called away to settle a trading dispute."

Eomer nodded. "Good. What else?"

When the sternness in Gamling's eyes softened into pity, a stab of fear shot through Eomer's heart. The last time someone had looked at him like that had been when they had told him Theodred was dead...

"My lord, the queen..." Gamling began.

"Lothiriel!" He could barely breathe. "What has happened to her?"

"She--"

Haleth interrupted Gamling. "Sire, Lady Lothiriel has left you."

Eomer stared at him dumbly. Finally he said, "That's impossible. Where is she?"

"No one knows," Haleth said. "She left ten days ago without telling anyone where she was going. In the confusion of the horse herds arriving for the spring fair, we did not miss her until sundown, when she did not return."

"We sent out searchers the next day," Gamling said, his voice compassionate, "in case she and her escort had met with some accident on the road. They were very thorough, but found nothing. We sent a message to Dol Amroth that same day. We... have received no reply."

Nine days was more than enough time for a messenger to travel to Dol Amroth and back, and if Lothiriel were not there, Prince Imrahil would say so. Eomer found himself sinking down onto the rough wooden bench of the hall. The world seemed to spin around him, and there was a horrible pain in his chest.

"Sire, she may only be visiting her family," Gamling said, but glanced sidelong at the other counselor, who sighed.

"She took her dower chest with her," Haleth said. He didn't need to elaborate; Eomer knew the tradition. A wife who wished to separate from her husband took her dowry back with her.

Eomer stared numbly at the floor. Unbidden, phrases swirled through his mind, snatches of conversation that were welcome because they were in her voice, even as they caused him agony. _I could not bear to leave Dol Amroth again... Do the Rohirrim ever dissolve marriages?... You deserve a wife who loves you._ And Elfhelm's voice: _Perhaps there was someone in Dol Amroth that she loved._

"Sire?" Haleth asked.

Eomer's head snapped up at a sudden thought. "What about Elfwine? Did she take him?"

"No, Sire," Gamling said. "He is with the wet nurse."

"Three days after the queen left," Haleth added, "the wet nurse came to us and said she had been left with a substantial portion of the prince's clothes."

Eomer buried his fists in his eyes. "And no word from Dol Amroth?"

"None, Sire."

"Send another messenger. I want to make sure she... got there... safely." He had to take breaths between his words to keep his voice understandable. "And send more searchers."

"Yes, Sire."

"Now leave me."

Haleth did so, but Gamling remained and asked gently, "My lord, what are you going to do?"

Eomer didn't know if the king of Rohan could force the prince of Dol Amroth to return his errant daughter, and he wasn't interested in finding out. He dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "I don't know," he said at last, his voice cracking.

"I am sorry, Sire," Gamling said quietly, and then retreating footsteps told Eomer that he was alone.

Alone, now, more than ever.

Eomer didn't know which he wanted more, to saddle Firefoot, gallop to Dol Amroth and demand to see Lothiriel-- or to lock away his heart forever and never speak of her again. Fury warred with grief as he could not stop tears from trickling down his cheeks. Tentative footsteps reminded him that he was still in the central hall of Meduseld, and he got up and walked out, going to his rooms. But they were empty and quiet, and her absence there struck him like a blow; he noticed that both of the pillows were on one side of the bed, and bitterly pictured her disarraying the bedclothes in her hurry to pack.

He went to the council chamber, where he sank down in the cold seat, his head in his hands. _Why?_ he thought numbly as his tears fell. _Why did she leave?_

He shot to his feet, knocking the chair over, and pounded his fists against the stone wall. "WHY!" he shouted, and seized an inkpot and hurled it against the table. It exploded in a spray of dark ink and glass shards. One embedded itself in the palm of his hand and drew blood. The sight reminded him of the recent battles, and his desire to wreck everything in the room vanished.

He went to the wall and stared out, but it looked north, not south. "Why?" he whispered. "How?" _How could she leave me? How could she leave Elfwine? How could she deprive him of a mother?_ he demanded silently. _How--_ he sank down on one of the wooden chairs and buried his head in his hands.

_What am I going to do?_ He wanted to ride south immediately, to bring her back, but he couldn't be that cruel. He knew how seriously she took her duty, and if she had been miserable enough to abandon it and her son, he wouldn't try to force her to return. There would be political ramifications, he knew; would their marriage be annulled, and if so who had the authority to do so? Or would they just be perpetually separated? It would be more than a scandal, it would be an uproar. He didn't care.

After a while he got up and got parchment and a fresh inkpot. _Lothiriel_, he tried to write, but got no further than the _L_ before his hand became too unsteady for him to continue. Red blood dripped onto the page.

_Prince Imrahil,_ he tried to write next, and then stopped. What was there to say? _I am writing to inquire as to the whereabouts of my--_ he crossed out the last word and wrote _Lothiriel_ instead. _Is she there, safe, with you? _He signed part of his name, stopped, crumpled the paper, and threw it savagely into the unlit fireplace.

Some time later, the door opened, and he looked up to see Lady Celgwyn with Elfwine on her hip and a tray of food on her other arm. She set the tray on the table, not blinking at the shattered glass, and he took Elfwine from her. _She's one of Lothiriel's confidants,_ he thought. _Perhaps she can tell me--_ but when their eyes met, Lady Celgwyn's were chilly, and his inquiry died on his laps as she curtsied politely and left.

He had no appetite for food and pushed the tray away as Elfwine stared up at him with unblinking grey eyes that brought painful memory of another pair just like them. Eomer shut his own eyes to avoid the sight, and held his son tightly against his chest. "How could she leave us?" he whispered.

As if he understood, Elfwine started to fuss. Eomer's throat was tight, but he started to sing a soothing lullaby. "I see one horse riding down the road. Ai, ai, ai, oh, my son tell me, why does one horse--"

His voice broke, and he slumped forward onto the desk.

- - -

A/N: One chapter left, to tie up the rest of the loose ends.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: I would like to thank Deandra for betaing this chapter and Lialathuveril for commenting on it, and both of them for being able to endure multiple versions of it.**

- - -

Despite the odd look the guard gave her, Lothiriel was very happy as she approached the steps leading to Meduseld's terrace. It was so good to be coming _home_, and indubitably, this was her home now. And she would see Elfwine again; she'd missed him terribly, even more than she'd expected to, to the point of tears. But with the king away in battle, it would have been inexcusable for her to take Rohan's only heir into danger for her personal comfort.

And now the king was back from battle: the flag flying over Edoras indicated that Eomer had returned earlier than anyone had expected. She was very glad, for she had so much to tell him. Reaching the top of the steps she saw him standing on the far side of the terrace, facing away from her, and her heart leapt. "Eomer!" she called, lifting up her skirts and running across the stones. "Eomer!" But his back remained immobile. Her steps slowed. "Eomer?"

Finally he turned to face her, and she nearly flinched away from the anger in his gaze. The smile slid off of her face. What was wrong?

"If you have returned for your things, _my lady_, they are packed," he said, and his cold voice was like a physical blow.

She stared at him incredulously, feeling as if the ground had tumbled out from under her feet. Finally she found voice to ask, "You are sending me away... my lord?"

"Sending?" His mouth curled into a smile that had nothing in it of mirth. "You chose to go, of your own free will."

Lothiriel nearly pinched herself to make sure she was not having a nightmare. Her bewilderment grew. "But I did not think you would mind, I..." Her voice trailed off at the look on his face.

"You _did not think I would mind?_" he repeated, biting off each word as if it pained him. His eyes blazed with cold fury.

"I... no," she said, meeting his eyes squarely, so confused that his expression barely bothered her. "If you'd been here, I would have asked you if you wanted to come with me." His face went completely blank. "Was I wrong? Tell me what I have done!" She stepped towards him.

He stared at her, and she sensed the same merciless confusion that was preying on her mind. A faint crease appeared between his brows. Finally he said, "Where have you been?"

She blinked, taken aback. "Minas Tirith, of course. I--"

"_Minas Tirith_?" He seemed even more startled by her answer than she'd been by his question. "Why?"

Realization began to dawn for Lothiriel. "Because Tiriel wrote to me and said my mother had fallen off of her horse," she said. "And I was afraid she was dying, but it was all a misunderstanding." She closed her eyes for a moment as the line of text that had sent her galloping to Gondor in a desperate, needless bid to be in time to say goodbye floated in her vision. "Did you not read my letter?"

"_What_ letter?"The anger had faded from Eomer's gaze, and now he just looked as bemused as she felt.

"The letter I left on your desk, by the stack of papers. I did not think you would return before I did, but I left it just in case."

"There is no stack of papers on my desk," Eomer said, and then his expression took on the stillness of sudden realization. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, said in a low voice, "The courier took the stack to Gondor. He must have thought your letter was part of it."

"Oh," Lothiriel said, and frowned. "But I told Elfhelm and Herefara where I was going. Did they not tell you, either?"

Eomer's face went blank again. "Elfhelm and Herefara left the same day you did." His voice was expressionless.

Finally, everything fell into place. "Then you did not know where I was," Lothiriel said, understanding and faint horror coming simultaneously and belatedly.

But Eomer's next words destroyed her comprehension as he shook his head. "I... thought you were in Dol Amroth," he said, the words seeming to come reluctantly. "For good."

She stared at him, feeling poleaxed. "You thought I left you," she said finally. "I have stayed here through isolation, pain and heartbreak, and you thought I _left you_?" Her voice cracked. "Do you know nothing of me? _Why_?"

"Because no one knew where you were," he said tiredly. "Because you took your dowry--"

"My dowry is in my winter trunk!"

He looked confused. "But the chest is gone."

"Yes, I took it because it was the smallest one I had. But I told you in the letter." She added, "Did no one find the dowry when they were packing my possessions?" She couldn't keep the anger and bitterness out of her voice. "Did you not even _look_?"

"I could not bear to go through your things." He had turned away from her, staring out over the city, and his voice was so low she barely heard it. She started to respond, but the slump of his shoulders, showing a defeat that she had never seen in him before, silenced her. "I am sorry," he said. "I... assumed based on the information I had. Obviously I should not have trusted my own judgment, or that of my advisors. I am sorry."

Lothiriel was quiet for a moment, and she felt her anger fade away at the hollow tone of his voice and the dark circles under his eyes, to be replaced by concern and self-recrimination. _Would I not have thought the same thing in his position?_

She could not bear to see him so demoralized. "Eomer," she said, slowly going to him. He did not look at her. "Eomer, I would never leave you."

"Honor would keep you here," he said after a moment, turning back to her.

"Honor," she agreed. "And love."

His head snapped up. "For Elfwine."

She took one last step forward, so he had to look at her. "And for you."

His gaze was fixed on hers, and she met it without blinking, willing him to see into her heart and discover the love there for him. "You mean that," he said softly.

"Truly," she whispered. "I do." His hand came up to cup her cheek, and she could not look away from his eyes as he gazed at her. He leaned forward, and then stopped, and she lifted her face up to his. The first brush of his lips across hers was just that, a brush; but then she slid her arms around his neck and their lips met again. With the part of her mind that was not occupied with the gentle pressure of his warm mouth on hers, she felt him pull her closer; the feeling of being in his arms, their bodies snug together, as they slowly kissed, was the most wonderful thing she had ever experienced. After a while she was aware only of his touch, and his smell, and the sensation of his body and mouth against hers, and the feeling of overwhelming love in her heart.

It was a long, long time before they pulled apart.

-

Finally, eons later, their lips slowly separated. Lothiriel rested back on the flats of her feet and looked up into her love's eyes. She thought his heart was as full as hers was; she realized her cheeks were wet. Gently Eomer wiped the tears away, and then leaned forward to softly kiss her again. Then he lightly traced the lines of her face; the happiness-- _No. Joy_-- in his eyes erased the painful memory of his slump-shouldered defeat. Slowly he smiled, a smile full of wonder, and she smiled back. They didn't need words.

The sharp wind cut through her dress and she shivered. "Shall we go inside?" Eomer asked.

Lothiriel shook her head. "I want to see Elfwine." She'd found one piece of her heart, there on the terrace; now she needed her son.

"He's at Mistress Aeryn's, still." Lothiriel nodded; she'd taken him there herself, along with most of his clothes, not knowing how long she'd be gone. Eomer offered her his arm, and when she took it with a smile for the familiar gesture, tucked her hand into his.

At Mistress Aeryn's home, the eyes of Elfwine's guard widened when he saw the two of them, and then his face snapped into impassivity and he bowed deeply. Lothiriel wondered, with a sense of nagging worry, just how far the story of her supposed desertion had spread, but now was not the time to dwell on it. She had Eomer, and she would soon have Elfwine. That was all that mattered.

At Eomer's knock, Aeryn opened the door to her cottage and curtsied. If she was surprised to see Lothiriel, she did not show it. "The Prince is sleeping, Majesty, Highness," she said, standing back so they could enter. "I was just about to wake him to see if he was hungry." She started to put her son down so she could get Elfwine, but Lothiriel lifted him from the cradle by the fire; he shifted in his sleep but did not wake. "I will be in the back room," Aeryn said, and curtsied again before retreating behind the closed door.

Lothiriel sat on the bench by the hearth and cradled him in her arms, feeling a happiness beyond reason at holding him again. _How I have missed my family!_ Eomer sat next to her, and she shifted closer, leaning into him; he put his arm around her waist and reached up to touch Elfwine's head with his other hand. With her forefinger, Lothiriel lightly traced her son's features, marveling all over again at how wonderful he was. She kissed his scant golden hair, smelled his special scent and whispered to him, though he could not hear her; it seemed like he'd grown beyond belief while she was gone. "I don't think I ever want to leave either of you again," she said softly, and felt Eomer's arm tighten around her.

At that moment Elfwine woke, and his eyes focused on her face for the first time. He smiled and gurgled happily, and she smiled back, overcome with joy. But then his face screwed up into a frown and he started to cry; he was hungry. She tried to nurse him, but her milk was very low. She'd nursed Finduilas, Eowyn's daughter, on a regular basis, but that had ended a week ago. Elfwine refused to suckle, and turned his head from side to side when she tried to guide him to her other breast.

She sighed. "I'll have to leave him with Aeryn," she said reluctantly, stroking Elfwine's hair again. She didn't want to give him up so soon, but he was insistent; so she stood and straightened her dress, and knocked on the back door.

"I must leave Elfwine with you," she told Aeryn when the wet nurse opened the door. "I... I don't have enough milk for him." Unwillingly, she handed Elfwine back, letting her hands linger on him for a moment. Then she made herself step back, and saw sympathetic understanding in the other woman's eyes. "I want to thank you," she added. "I could not have left him if I had not known he would be in such good care."

"You're welcome, Your Highness," Aeryn said. "I enjoy having him. He's much less trouble than my Hama." Then she asked, "Did you find your family well?"

In her rush to get out of Edoras before the incoming herds trapped her there another day, Lothiriel had told Aeryn only that she was going to her family. Belatedly she realized that this would have seemed support for the idea of her desertion. "Yes, thank you," she said. Elfwine was still fussing, so she thanked Aeryn again and let the woman close the door to nurse.

Eomer was waiting where she had left him, and she walked into his arms and felt them close around her, leaning against his chest. "Will you be all right?" he asked gently.

She nodded. "Yes," she said. "I just... I missed him. I still do." She swallowed at the memory of the first two nights on the road to Minas Tirith, when she'd cried herself to sleep from Elfwine's absence. "I missed you," she whispered, and added, "very much," reaching up to touch his cheek.

His eyes were dark and tender as he looked down at her. "I missed you," he replied. "Very much." Gently, he cupped the side of her face with his hand. "Oh, Lothiriel..." His voice was suddenly low and rough with emotion.

"I know," she whispered. She tightened her arms around him, and his mouth came down on hers in a sensation that she was quickly becoming very happily accustomed to. She shifted closer to him, moving her arms up as his hand cradled the nape of her neck, pulling her closer still. In the intensity of his kiss she felt stark need, and the shadow of remembered despair. Willingly she returned his kiss with just as much fervency, not just because she wanted to soothe away his troubling memories but because it felt so _good_.

A sound startled her into breaking away, and she felt her cheeks burn with the heat of a thousand suns as she saw Aeryn closing the door to the back room again. "Forgive me, I did not mean to disturb you," she said, and her face was almost solemn, with only a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I was just going to ask if you wanted me to bring Elfwine to the Great Hall after he nursed, so you could have him until it was time for him to sleep?"

"Yes," Lothiriel agreed. "Please." Aeryn had already started to nurse Elfwine, and he was over her shoulder now, with a shawl around her chest to preserve her modesty. The sight of her son in another woman's arms prompted a surge of unreasonable jealousy, and she had to choke it down. Eomer somehow guessed what she was feeling, for he gently touched her elbow, but the sensation only made her blush fiercely again.

"You may stay as long as you like," Aeryn said, and there was definite laughter lurking in her voice now. "I won't interrupt you again."

"No thank you," Lothiriel said. "We'll go now." Aeryn curtsied, her cheeks beginning to dimple from suppressed mirth, and closed the door again. Lothiriel looked over at Eomer; he stepped closer, and met her eyes, and she saw chagrined amusement in his gaze, too. Gently he kissed her on the forehead, and she laughed softly.

"Shall we go?" he asked. She nodded; now that the initial rush of euphoria had worn off, she realized she was hungry, cold, tired, and dirty from traveling.

"Please," she said, and took his arm again.

As they mounted the steps, she realized that the doorwards would have witnessed their reunion-- all of it-- and resigned herself to the story being all over Edoras by morning. Still, there were worse things she could be gossiped about than kissing her husband. _Like leaving him_.

Inside, the Great Hall was warm and noisy as the servants cleared the remains of the evening meal. Meduseld had dined early that day, she thought; the sun was just then setting. A few nobles still sat in the corner, and looked up when they entered, but significantly, they did not look surprised. _The news spread quickly_. Of course; not only would the news of her escort's approach have caused a stir, but everyone who had seen her between the stables and the terrace would have remarked on it.

She and Eomer walked to one end of one of the long tables, and he sent a servant for some supper; as she was sitting down, one of the noblewomen approached and curtsied. It was Lady Cynwyn. "Welcome back, Your Highness," she said. "It is good to see you again." Her eyes flickered briefly over to Eomer, and Lothiriel thought she detected a hint of coldness in the other woman's expression, but it was gone too quickly for her to be sure.

"Thank you," she said. "It is very good to be back. How is your daughter?"

"Perfectly well, now," Lady Cynwyn answered. "She has all her strength back."

Lothiriel smiled. "I am glad to hear it." Lady Cynwyn curtsied again, and went back to the other nobles.

Soon people began to drift in and out, and she knew it was to see her, but for the most part they let her eat in peace. But there was still much she and Eomer had to talk about-- she had heard nothing of the northern campaign-- and for a while her bites were intermittent. After that subject was exhausted, she applied herself to her stew for a few moments; then he said, "Tell me of Minas Tirith."

She swallowed. "Mother had gone there to see Amrothos," she said, "for he was... unhappy." Eomer nodded; he knew how her brother's crippling leg injury sometimes caused him to despair. "She was staying with them, and so did I." She told him briefly of the pleasure she had taken in being reunited with that part of her family, whom she had not seen in over a year. "I also spent time with Eowyn."

"How is she?" Eomer asked quickly.

Lothiriel hesitated. "You know Finduilas is still sickly, and under the care of the healers." Eomer nodded again. "Eowyn cannot return to Ithilien because of it, and she has the depression that comes to some women after birth. She was lonely and she missed Faramir very much." Eomer looked worried, and stared into the fire. "I introduced her to Tiriel," she told him. "Somehow they had never met. I think the friendship of another woman will help when Faramir goes back to Ithilien, if she cannot go with him." The tight lines on Eomer's face eased as he heard this; Eowyn had spent little time in Minas Tirith, and consequently had few good friends there. "She spent most of the time with us, until Faramir returned. I think we made her happier." Eomer took her hand in silent gratitude, and she twined her fingers with his.

After a few moments someone called Eomer away, and her friends continued to welcome her back. Lady Eambreth sat down across from her, but they had barely exchanged greetings when one of her orphans came running up, covered from head to toe in mud. "Elwyn sent me to tell you that the geese are loose again," he-- she? it was impossible to tell-- gasped.

"Oh dear," Lady Eambreth said, and exchanged a wry look with Lothiriel as she stood. "I'd better go."

"Wait," Lothiriel said hastily. "Am I imagining things, or are some of the women unhappy with the king?"

"You are not mistaken," Lady Eambreth said. "Your ladies have been furious with him for believing you had left him. We did not know where you were, either, but we knew you would be back." Then the orphan began to tug on her hand, and with a quick apology she was gone.

But the subject stayed on Lothiriel's mind. When Eomer returned, she quietly asked him, "What happens now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Will there be..." she hesitated. "Repercussions, from the rumors and my absence?"

"Your explanation will be heard, and it will be believed and understood," he said. "Rohirrim are honest, and you are their queen. They will not doubt your word."

"But if they do?" she asked. "There are some here who still do not like having a Gondorian queen."

"Then the escort will confirm your story," he said. "Don't worry."

Lothiriel shook her head. "I can't help thinking that this will cause trouble sometime," she said quietly.

"Those who would use this to stir up trouble are inclined to make trouble anyway," Eomer said, and his mouth tightened. "If they would publicly doubt your word, and that of your escort, and my belief in you, and the word of Eowyn and your family, then I am more concerned about their stance on other matters than this. And they will not be believed." Lothiriel was still uneasy, and it must have shown on her face. "Think of those who have greeted you," Eomer said. "Have any of them expressed disbelief, or greeted you with reticence?"

"No," she said. "But these are my friends, my partisans."

Eomer smiled. "Lothiriel, most of Edoras are your partisans. You are their queen, and very much well liked." She let this final reassurance ease her worries; time enough for them if-- as she hoped it would not-- the subject ever arose as a matter of contention. _Let me not have jeopardized Rohan's peace with my thoughtlessness_. "Lothiriel?" he asked, and she looked up again. "If anyone does say anything of the sort to you, tell me." His smile was gone, and she did not think he had noticed that his hand was clenched tightly around his ale mug.

Eomer was called away again, to speak to a man in messenger's garb, and as he did so Lady Celgwyn sat down at the table. Lothiriel wondered if she had waited for just such an occasion so she would not have to speak to Eomer. "Welcome home," the other woman said with a faint smile.

"It is, very much so," Lothiriel murmured. "I am so glad to be back. Minas Tirith was nice, but in some ways it was lacking." She'd been startled to find herself homesick for Edoras, even when she was surrounded by the family she had so desperately missed.

"We are glad you are back, too," Lady Celgwyn said, but Lothiriel saw the hint of dryness in her voice and the quick flicker of her eyes towards Eomer.

"Lady Celgwyn, please don't be angry with him on my behalf," she said. "He has been through enough."

"What he has been through has been of his own making," Lady Celgwyn said. "For someone usually so sensible, he's been remarkably foolish. Anyone with eyes should have known you were coming back."

"There was much to indicate otherwise," Lothiriel said softly. "Neither of us were blameless. Do not hold it against him."

There was a short pause, then Lady Celgwyn said, "For your sake, then, I will not."

"Thank you."

Lady Celgwyn then inquired about her trip to Minas Tirith. "You found your family well, then?"

"Not... completely," Lothiriel said, thinking of Amrothos's dejection and Eowyn's melancholy. "But they will be better in time, I hope."

"And you found Elfwine well?"

"He is well, although..." Lothiriel sighed. "My milk has nearly dried up. I would very much like to nurse him again."

"Ask Brinweld for a tea of fenugreek and thistle," Lady Celgwyn said. "That will help. But it will be hard work," she warned. "You will have to be patient to get him to suckle again."

"I am willing to be patient," Lothiriel promised.

Lady Celgwyn told her the news from Edoras-- the orphanage prospered; there had been a fire in the western part of the city two days prior, but it had been quickly extinguished; Lady Eambreth and Leofwine were to be married on Litha, the longest day of the year; Lady Robrym was pregnant after seven years of thinking herself barren-- and after a few more moments, left, saying she would see her the next day. Shortly after, Eomer returned. "I am sorry," he said. "Messages came in from Helm's Deep."

"Is all well there?"

"Yes. They've destroyed the wargs and are trying to strengthen the barriers for the lower pastures now."

"Wargs?" Lothiriel asked, but just then the great doors opened again and a man in the livery of Dol Amroth hastened in. He looked battered and weatherbeaten, and in his hand he held a leather message pouch. The man strode quickly up the room to Eomer, dropped on one knee before him, and offered the pouch.

"Your Majesty," he said, his face serious. Then he glanced up, and saw Lothiriel. His eyes widened. "Lady Lothiriel!"

Confused, she looked to Eomer for an explanation. "My counselors wrote to Dol Amroth when they discovered you were missing," he said. "Imrahil did not respond, and I thought he was... protecting you. I wrote again to make sure you had gotten there safely."

"My father was in Minas Tirith with us," she said. "He had gotten Tiriel's letter, too. He left a few days before I did."

Eomer blinked, and then closed his eyes, looking faintly appalled. "This could not have happened more unfortunately if it had been orchestrated," he muttered. Lothiriel took his hand, and he opened his eyes again. "Was Prince Imrahil alarmed at the messages?"

"No, Your Majesty," the messenger said, "but he was puzzled, as he believed her to be in Minas Tirith."

"I will write to him now and explain everything," Lothiriel said. "The message can return with you, if you are willing." The courier nodded his assent, and she instructed a nearby servant to see that he got a hot substantial meal, a bath, and a place to sleep; she knew that among the Rohirrim she did not have to tell anyone to have his horse cared for. Then she and Eomer rose and left the hall.

It was startling to enter the solar and find her trunks against the wall, and for a moment she stopped, silent. Eomer's touch on her shoulder was compassionate, but almost hesitant, and when she looked up again, he was watching her. "Are you angry?" he asked.

She swallowed. "No," she said. "Why should I be? You told me my things were packed. I just did not... expect to find them so." She touched the tops of the trunks, then opened one. There among her winter clothes were the woven sacks she had placed inside before she had left.

Eomer came up behind her. "Your dowry," he said quietly.

Lothiriel sighed. "I was very careless," she murmured. "Will you forgive me?"

But Eomer shook his head. "You left me a letter where you expected I would find it," he said. "You told members of my Council where you were going--"

"I would have told more," she explained, "but I thought they would tell those who needed to know, and I was afraid that if I was trapped in Edoras for another day I might be... too late." She swallowed again. The whole way to Minas Tirith her thoughts had been preoccupied by the thought of her mother dying. When she had walked into Amrothos and Tiriel's courtyard and found her mother standing there, obviously well and healthy, she had nearly collapsed from shock and relief.

Eomer took her hand, as if he knew what she was thinking. "You had nothing to do with your father's not answering my message," he went on, "and your dowry was here the entire time."

"I could have borrowed a different trunk, at least," she said. But she'd not thought it necessary after explaining in her letter to Eomer why she had taken her dower chest and where her dowry was.

Eomer took her other hand. "I forgive you," he said. "Will you forgive me for doubting you?"

"Of course," she said. "But you had--" He kissed her, and ended the subject.

-

Later that night, after she had written to her father, bathed away the travel dust and seen Elfwine again, Lothiriel lay cradled in Eomer's arms, her head resting back against his chest as it had that cold night so many weeks before. His body heat radiated through his shirt and her thin nightgown to warm her, and she felt the slow rise and fall of his breathing as if it were her own body. It was too trivial to say she was happy; but there was a profound sense of rightness with the world, and she was deeply, humbly thankful.

"Eomer?" she whispered.

"Yes?" His breath warmed the back of her neck.

"Did I tell you yet that I love you?" She turned in his arms to face him.

"Yes," he said, gently stroking her cheek with one rough thumb. "But miracles can bear repeating."

"I love you," she said again, and his lips curved up into a smile, and he shifted forward to gently kiss her.

"I love you," he whispered when they pulled apart, and after a moment she leaned her head against his chest and listened to his strong heartbeat. His arms tightened around her, and Lothiriel made a quiet little noise of contentment.

"I realized I loved you in Minas Tirith," she said after a few moments. "It was when Faramir came back unexpectedly from Ithilien, and surprised Eowyn; and watching her, seeing how happy she was, I realized... if I were to see you that moment, I would feel the same way." The logs in the hearth crackled sharply, startling her for a moment. "And I knew then it wasn't just respect or friendship I felt for you. It had to be love." She tried to hold back her tears as she went from tender memory to guilt. "I'm so sorry. I've been so blind in this."

"Lothiriel..."

But she kept speaking, her voice uneven. "I did not recognize what I felt for you as love." She shook her head. "I loved you when you rode out of Edoras to fight the orcs and I wondered if I would ever see you again. I loved you when I broke both our hearts by telling you I did not. I may have even loved you when you asked me why I married you, and I was too afraid to ask the same of you, because in my heart I couldn't bear to hear what you would say."

"Lothiriel," Eomer whispered, "I am the last person who will accuse you of being foolish." Gently, he kissed her, and then pulled her close again. "Let it go," he murmured. Slowly, she nodded again.

After a few moments, she asked, "Why did you ask me to marry you?"

Eomer was silent for a while, tracing gentle patterns on her arm. "You seemed kind," he said at last. "And calming. The sort of woman I wanted by my side."

Lothiriel half-smiled at the irony. "You wanted to marry me because you thought I was kind, and I accepted because I thought you were honorable," she said. "What a tangle we could have made of things." She shook her head. "What a tangle we nearly did make of things."

"All that is past now," he murmured.

She nodded, and sank down into the pillow, becoming still as she observed his face. His gaze was attentive and serious as he watched her watch him, and she wondered why his eyes had never caught her attention like that before. "We have the rest of our lives," she said finally. "Together." Slowly, hesitantly, she leaned forward and kissed him. "I love you," she whispered, and turned so she could rest her head back against his chest once more.

"And I love you." The undercurrent of his voice made her face flush with warmth, and his lips brushed the nape of her neck, and then the base, and she shivered.

"Eomer..." she said reluctantly as his caresses continued to travel down the curve of her shoulder. "I don't have the lennis yet."

He gently tugged aside her nightgown to kiss the edge of her shoulder. "I know," he said, and she felt his smile against her skin. "Don't worry."

_Worry was not what I had in mind_, she thought, and felt her face heat further. The feel of his mouth on her bare skin produced a melting warmth in the pit of her stomach, and she knew he must be feeling something similar. She wondered if sense would be able to prevail over sensation… But then he pressed his lips lightly to the top of her head, and she lay back, and let her eyes drift close.

"Was our wedding night so bad for you?" he asked a few moments later.

It took her a moment to rouse her brain out of its pleased stupor to answer. "It was painful," she admitted. "I was sore afterwards." She felt an almost imperceptible change in Eomer's body; he did not tense, but some of the relaxation left him. "But more than that I was... ashamed." She turned to face him. "You were a stranger, and I'd lain with you," she said, gently tracing the lines of his face. "We'd reduced something that was about love to politics and breeding."

He breathed out slowly, a long, silent sigh. "I knew it was awkward, and I thought we could wait until we knew each other better to try for children, but I did not realize... I'm sorry," he said. "I did not even think until it was too late... I'm sorry."

"It's all right," she said, touching his face again. And it was. On the way back from Minas Tirith she'd realized that the way her heart sped up whenever he looked at her a certain way meant she'd gotten over her wedding night a long time ago. _Maybe they should talk to men about the marriage bed instead of women_, she thought ruefully. _It might save a nervous bride a worse time than mine. _

Eomer caught the hand that was tracing his cheekbones and lifted it to his lips, and then leaned forward to kiss her again. In the gentleness, the tenderness, she felt a silent apology. "I should never have hurt you," he murmured when they shifted apart.

"Eomer," she said, catching his gaze. "It's all right." And then, because she still saw the shadow of self-recrimination in his eyes, she added, "Let it go." He smiled a little, and nodded.

"It will be better next time," he said. "I swear it to you."

"I believe you," she said. "I trust you." She settled against him again, and closed her eyes.

But sleep would not come; she was still too alert from the events of the day. Evidently Eomer felt the same way, for she felt him shift against her, and looked at him as he sat up. "I want to show you something," he explained. Thinking they were going somewhere, she glanced around for her robe as she stood, but he shook his head and led her over to the window.

She looked out and then back at him as he sat on the stone ledge. "Look," he said, pointing up, and she sat down beside him and looked. The night was clear, and there was no moon; the only light came from the brilliant stars. "There's Leod and Felarof," Eomer said, tracing a shape with his forefinger, "and Bema the Hunter."

Lothiriel squinted at this last one. "Where?" He took her hand and guided it so she could see the pattern, the streaming hair and the upraised horn. Then he pointed out the sheaf of wheat and the bucket of mead, and the sword and the plowshare, and the harp and the hare. "That one was always my sister's favorite," he said, gesturing, and Lothiriel focused her eyes, trying to discern a recognizable pattern in the bright dots.

"It's a shield-maiden," she guessed.

Eomer laughed. "Yes."

By now she had settled against his chest, and his arm was wrapped around her waist. "When I was little," she said after a moment, "my father would sometimes let my brothers take his cutter out into the bay to spend the night. It was a great treat when they would take me with them, and we would lie on the deck and they would teach me the stars."

"I used to watch the stars when I was on campaign with the eored," he said. "Whenever I had trouble sleeping, I would look up at them, and I would know that there was one thing the Enemy could never defile."

"They're beautiful," she murmured, feeling her eyelids beginning to droop. "Thank you for showing them to me."

"I could cope during the day," he said suddenly, a moment later. "I could keep myself so busy that I didn't have time to think. But at night... at night I couldn't sleep, and I would stare out at the stars and wonder where you were. If I would ever see you again." Lothiriel felt her throat constrict. "And how I would live the rest of my life without love."

"Eomer--" Her eyes filled with tears.

"No, please don't cry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to upset you. Don't you see? You _haven't_ gone. You've fixed all that." He touched her hair. "You've healed all my hurts."

She nearly cried in earnest then, from emotion and happiness and the overwhelming events of the last month, but deep breaths kept more than a few drops of moisture from rolling down her cheeks. "Thank you for that," she said softly.

"Do you remember what we were at the beginning?" Eomer asked a bit later, his voice a rumble against her back. Lothiriel nodded sleepily, and was filled with a fresh sense of wonder. A year ago this man had been a stranger to her, and she had pictured long grey years of an awkward relationship. But now... now she never wanted to be parted from him.

"I never thought we would get here from there," she said.

"Nor I." His voice was suddenly husky. "Nor I."

"But we did," she whispered, feeling her eyes drifting close.

She felt him nod. "We did." His lips brushed the top of her head.

"I love you," she said one last time, and then Lothiriel lay back in her husband's arms, happy and content.

_Reconcile v. 1. To reestablish a close relationship between. 2. To settle or resolve. 3. To bring oneself to accept. 4. To make compatible or consistent._

- - - - -

**A/N: So, there you have it. Thank you to all of you for staying with the story to the end. I hope it satisfied.**

In addition to the thanks owed for this chapter, I would also like to thank JadeSabre and Finduilas88, and again Deandra and especially Lialathuveril, for their comments, criticisms, questions, suggestions, encouragement, patience, threatened death by Nazgul steed if I did not keep writing, willingness to hold long early-morning conversations about the story, and concussions rendered to my main character. This story would not be the same without them. For one thing, it would not be done yet.

The stories of most of the characters introduced in _**Reconciliation**_** will be continued in **_**Tales of the Orphanage**_**, to be posted soon. I am relatively sure that I will be staying in fanfiction and in this fandom, and my next Eomer/Lothiriel scenario will be **_**Fugitive**_**, to be written after I take a break to work on original fiction and reread the Lord of the Rings trilogy. **

**I am also trying to compile a playlist for this story. A small part of it can be found at imeem dot com by a search for **_**Reconciliation**_**; if I ever complete it, I will post it here. I would like to note in passing that the dancing at the end of chapter 20 was inspired by a disco song and the phrase "Do the wave for Boromir the Disco King".**

**That's it! Thank you, and good night.**


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